The only place I have seen death is in Hospitals. There is an inefficiency of death there. But a darkness of hope for those who will live yet beyond the walls, who look out on the Old Fan Mountain where they will walk again, out on the sun-silver water of the Madison where they might fish again. Who wait, knowing hope is too frail. Who know the river, the lake, the white peaks are losing someone wonderful and lovely in this hissing, ticking room that kills with such banal inefficiency.
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