Bram Stoker,
The Lady of the Shroud — Book IV: Under the Flagstaff
(1909)
“ But later in the night, when I was alone and in darkness, whenever I thought of it all--its strangeness and its stranger rapture--I could not but be sensible of the bizarre conditions for a love meeting. The place lonely, the time night, the man young and strong, and full of life and hope and ambition; the woman, beautiful and ardent though she was, a woman seemingly dead, clothed in the shroud in which she had been wrapped when lying in her tomb in the crypt of the old church. ”
