Already I hear it, while guardian angels, attendant on humanity, their task achieved, hasten away, and their departure is announced by melancholy strains; faces all unseemly with weeping, forced open my lids; faster and faster many groups of these woebegone countenances thronged around, exhibiting every variety of wretchedness⁠—well known faces mingled with the distorted creations of fancy. Ashy pale, Raymond and Perdita sat apart, looking on with sad smiles. Adrian’s countenance flitted across, tainted by death⁠—Idris, with eyes languidly closed and livid lips, was about to slide into the wide grave. The confusion grew⁠—their looks of sorrow changed to mockery; they nodded their heads in time to the music, whose clang became maddening.