“Now Mrs. Greensleeve, who knew that she was going to die, thought of death in the same way a nightbound wanderer in the rain looks forward to a soft bed.”

“She now knew that the death she feared might not be a physical one, that it could be death of the will, the soul, the mind, the laws, and thus not death, but a perpetual dying.”

“Let the sky rain potatoes," said a musing voice. "Let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves.”

“I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble.”

“Liz wrenched her hand from his grasp, and this time, she stepped boldly forward. “I will stay and Michael can go.”  Her voice did not waiver as she pronounced her own death sentence. No matter what happened to her, she knew she couldn’t let him die.”

“I appreciate your help, but that still does not satisfy my confusion. Who are you?” she asks as she sits forward.“I could be asking you the same thing, Mrs. Peeper,” he says as he laughs.”