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It was a strange heaven and hell in which she stirred feebly. Heaven because she rested on a soft, warm couch of fur; hell because a horde of flaming pain-imps wrenched and tugged and twisted at her sword-arm. Heaven because a thick, earthy fragrance was about her; hell because dinning in her ears was a babble of coarse and indistinguishable chatter.
Meg opened her eyes -- then closed them, shuddering violently -- knowing, now, that this was neither heaven nor hell, but life. Life futile and unwanted.