Ignited by tossed butt of a still-smouldering cigar t lodged in tre at Ric appearance burned to ter old Edgar  al ly became lived in able mirror and  constrained by t made . But nooo, oucile, unreal mot up togeted scenery.

    tion rose o become a constellation of stars ill nig, rics t  ferments tbreak and fever. (Ouous nigars marked ts of a face folded in sorrow.

    NAtURE OF tRICAL ILLUSION; everything you see is false.

    Consider trical illusion o to it at an age wo be real.

    often oddled on to tage y and tains doing for t wery.

    ed backdrop of, say, an antique castle -- a castle! suc build le all complete ed s of trees, massy oaks or somet, all in tificial s it seems. You knock against a gilded t looks perfectly solid, t side turns out to be made of papier mac is as lig up and carry it off  in it and be a king or lie in it and be in pain.

    A creaking, an ominous rattling scares ttle s out of you; e cries and muttered oatages tomb or Optles in, clutching Yorricks skull.

    tip mugs of sour porter against your lips noe in turned into nuns or sometain t cuts you off from tunate, tobacco-stained multitude t s pennies on to cranscendent rituals noter t make tations felt. A stageo scoop you up and carry you off, protesting, to rain presses ly on your forehe mob.

    On  the mark of Cain.

    an impressionable age, seen ure of tery of tle -- t all its ed cardboard and yet terrify you -- ery and made less sense of it.

    No treat, i