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It has been remarked before that those who are sensitive to radiations in the far octarine—the eighth color, the pigment of the Imagination—can see things that others cannot.
It had to be Death. No one else went around with empty eye sockets and, of course, the scythe over one shoulder was another clue.
Closing his eyes wasn’t much better, because it gave his imagination full rein.
“Can’t we do anything about it?” “No!” “Then I can’t see the sense in panicking,” said Twoflower calmly.
