A spirit glided past my face, and the hair on my body stood on end.
It stopped, but I could not tell what it was. A form stood before my eyes, and I heard a hushed voice:
‘Can a mortal be more righteous than God? Can even a strong man be more pure than his Maker?
If God places no trust in his servants, if he charges his angels with error,
how much more those who live in houses of clay, whose foundations are in the dust, who are crushed more readily than a moth!