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Quote by Charles Dickens
English (Source)
Oh, cold, cold, austere, fearful death, raise here an altar and adorn it with all the horrors at your disposal, for this is your realm! You can't bend a single hair of a well-loved, respected, clean head for your terrible purposes, you can't make a single feature of his face hateful. It doesn't matter that the hand is helpless and falls back when released, it doesn't matter that the heart and pulse have stopped beating; all that matters is that the hand was once open, giving, and just; the heart is brave, warm and tender, the heartbeat of a real man. Strike down, shadow, strike down! His good deeds will spring up from the wound to scatter the seeds of immortal life in the world!