Just relax, you had a big day, what with dying and being reborn and all. One grows used to anything, even to one's death. You could probably chop off a man's head three times a day for twenty years and he'd grow used to it, and cry like a baby if you stopped. Chaos was forever prophesized and utopia was continually predicted, and neither came to pass. Dead men can't be choosers.
Science has little effect upon superstition.
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