departed from earth and was nearing the unknown sun of truth and life,
and was in-corporeally soaring in its light.

"And that is-Death? That is not Death!" thought Musya blissfully.

And if scientists, philosophers and hangmen from the world over should
come to her cell, spreading before her books, scalpels, axes and
nooses, and were to attempt to prove to her that Death existed, that a
human being dies and is killed, that there is no immortality, they
would only surprise her. How could there be no deathlessness, since
she was already deathless? Of what other deathlessness, of what other
death, could there be a question, since she was already dead and
immortal, alive in death, as she had been dead in life?

And if a coffin were brought into her cell with her own decomposing
body in it, and she were told:

"Look! That is you!"

She would look and would answer:

"No, it is not I."

And if they should attempt to convince her, frightening her by the
ominous sight of her own decomposed body, that it was she -she, Musya,
would answer with a smile:

"No. You think that it is I, but it isn't. I am the one you are
speaking to; how can I be the other one?"