They seemed to be able to choose. We seemed to be able to choose, then. We were a society dying of too much choice.
We are a society dying, said Aunt Lydia, of too much choice.
A great fear came over me, and my body went entirely cold, and I stood as if paralyzed with fear; for I knew that the horse was no earthly horse, but the pale horse that will be sent at the Day of Reckoning, and the rider of it is Death; and it was Death himself who stood behind me, with his arms wrapped around me as tight as iron bands, and his lipless mouth kissing my neck as if in love. But as well as the horror, I also felt a strange longing.
Oh yes: And save me from death.
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