'Ye Gods... that image of which I write... that horrendous monstrosity, the belching refuse of mankind's toil and shambling folly. Every night and morn and waking eye and sleeping thought is consumed with it. How - how - how might I describe it? It is lower than all other revulsion - the horror of the mother at her stillborn babe, the spine-tingling shock and appall at the sight of one's lover in the arms of another, all pale in fear and comparison. I am left with that damned image.
The storm shrieks and shudders outside the walls. It is an unnatural monster - all heinous thunder and pompous lightning, but no rain. Nay, nay, nay. It is not t
'Ye Gods... that image of which I write... that horrendous monstrosity, the belching refuse of mankind's toil and shambling folly. Every night and morn and waking eye and sleeping thought is consumed with it. How - how - how might I describe it? It is lower than all other revulsion - the horror of the mother at her stillborn babe, the spine-tingling shock and appall at the sight of one's lover in the arms of another, all pale in fear and comparison. I am left with that damned image.
The storm shrieks and shudders outside the walls. It is an unnatural monster - all heinous thunder and pompous lightning, but no rain. Nay, nay, nay. It is not t
