Oh, my poor Christine, look at your wrists: tell me, have I hurt them?
...

That alone deserves death ...

Talking of death, I MUST SING HIS REQUIEM!" Hearing these terrible remarks, I received an awful presentiment ...

I too had once rung at the monster's door ...

and, without knowing it, must have set some warning current in motion.
And I remembered the two arms that had emerged from the inky waters...
What poor wretch had strayed to that shore this time?
Who was 'the other one,' the one whose requiem we now heard sung?
Erik sang like the god of thunder, sang a DIES IRAE that enveloped us as in a storm.