EPOCH THE THIRD. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. You don’t know, Anna, but when one is in danger one realizes that the— the other side of the line is Hell. I am a man—of a sort of experience. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. For a time they walked in silence. Still, that leaves over a million shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry.
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