Death cannot survive death. And so, in our dying, death dies with us once more. These secret fingers that were the very stallions of our birth, in strange arrangement, shall convey us to the verge beyond which all mystery, and indeed, all distance there doth dwell and perish all at once. But by what grace shall we cross such portals? Surely it is not a grace in us alone, or accident or less than more — than all we have and shall suppose, for in our suppositions it expands, and nowhere shall we pass or dwell that it has not exceeded. Where death survives death, so, too, must life. One death can cross the barriers all, one death surpasses strife.