I walked towards the sick chamber, and, on my way, a woman with something in her arms endeavored to attract my attention, but I pushed her away, and entered what was now the chamber of death. Good God! what a scene met my sight - the pure spirit of my wife had passed away, and she lay dead on the couch. But where now was the beauty in which I had gloried? The dreadful effects of the poison were but too evident; and a livid corpse, with the signs of violent death, was before me. In a transport of desperate grief I threw myself on the body - of what passed afterwards I have but dim and indistinct recollections.
Also, couches apparently affect you ability to write clearly and concisely. (At least if they're poorly chosen or covered in corpses!) So, are you a couch person, or a sofa person?