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A dead man doesn't hear the bells tolling. It's a waste of time for one hundred priests to shout themselves hoarse on his behalf or for him to be preceded and followed by a long line of burning torches. His soul does not walk alongside the master of ceremonies. To rot under marble or to rot under the earth -- it's still rotting. To have around your coffin choirboys in red and choirboys in blue or none at all -- what does that matter?