The Image of Death
Nothing belonging to a living world—everything to a dead world, where avalanches, rolling from the summits of the mountains, would disperse noiselessly at the bottom of the abyss, retaining the motion, but wanting the sound. In any case it was the image of death, without its being possible even to say that life had ever existed there.
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Context: The travelers gaze down on the airless, silent lunar landscape.
Not in a duel yet
Source: Chapter XVII: Tycho