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 priestess to the sky goddess,—built to endure forever! Carve the inside with the image of my death in little lines of figures three fingers high. Put a lid on it cut with Mut bending over the earth, for my headpiece, and in the year to be chosen I will rouse, the lid shall be lifted and I will walk about the temple where they have rested me and eat the air of the place:

Ah—these walls are high ! This is in keeping.”

III. The priestess has passed into her tomb. The stone has taken up her spirit! Granite over flesh: who will deny its advantages?

Your death?—water spilled upon the ground— though water will mount again into rose-leaves— but you?—would hold life still, even as a memory, when it is over. Benevolence is rare.

Climb about this sarcophagus, read what is writ for you in these figures,