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18 brothers began to shovel in the dirt; while their superior, standing by, looked on, stern as death. When the mould had reached the wretches knees, St Francis bent down, and, fixing his eye on him, said, are you dead yet - is your self will dead - do you yield? There was no answer. The signal was given and the burial went on. When, at length, he was buried up to the neck, even to the lips, St. Francis bent down once more to repeat the question, are you dead yet? The monk lifted his eye to his superiors, to see in in [sic] the cold grey eyes, that were fixed on him no spark of human feeling. Dead to pity, St. Francis, stood ready to give the signal that should finish the burial. But it was not needed; The iron bent. He was conquered; the funeral was stopped; his will yielded to a stronger, and the poor man said "I am dead". I would not be dead as