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“The banners of the King of Hell come forth,â€My teacher said, “and straight at us.Look ahead and see if you can see him.â€Like when a thick fog lifts, or like at duskIn the western world when one can just make out the hintOf a wind turbine turning in the distance,I thought I saw some mechanistic device like that; then,Due to the wind, I ducked behind my teacher,Since there was no other shelter.I was now—and I’m filled with dread as I write these lines—Where the shades were completely covered, visibleThrough the ice like bits of straw trapped in glass.