"There are few I have not seen," replied the Count, drily. "Few subjects are more interesting than the study of the divers ways in which the spirit can leave the body. The goblinata is the best that the Elves have been able to devise: it consists in roasting the victim alive, stewing him in a pot, frying him, boiling him, and finally baking him hot. As you can see, it is rather simplistic, but affords nonetheless an interesting spectacle. The Free Peoples do not comprehend that, while death may be a punishment, it is not an expiation."
"I don't understand you," replied Arafrantz. "Please explain yourself, because I cannot tell you to what extent you pique my curiosity."
"Listen," said the Count, and his face became a frightful mask, and in the sockets of his eyes and his nostrils there burned a flame. "If a man had made disappear, among horrible torments, your family, your mistress, your pipe-weed, your Precious, in short one of those beings whose absence leave an eternal void, as empty and barren as the field of Gorgorot, where nothing lives, not even the leprous growths that feed on rottenness, leaving you with no hope but to die in the dust, dust! – do you think the reparation would be sufficient?"
"But did not Gandault write: 'Many that live deserve death in excruciating torments. And some who die in torments deserve cognac. Can you give that to them? Be not so eager then to dispense death in judgement, taking pleasure in inflicting torture. Rather get thyself a pipe, some crêpes, and a flagon of good Mordeaux.'"
