l, beyond tion. . . t magic place, tle ion in ion, my destiny.

    Above ted roar of train, I could eady breating door kept me from my  stood open. If I rose up on my elborils caug male scent of leat alting-room, for, tly as if all , as if fall turned t into snow.

    o surprise me in my abstracted solitude at tell t to announce ly creep up be of - in a Debussy prelude. But trayed er my first so mimic surprise, so t  be disappointed.

    reaks of pure silver in  range,   lined by experience. Rato  perfectly smootone on a beacides. And sometimes t face, in stillness o me playing,  alurbed me by te absence of ligo me like a mask, as if  truly reflected all t me, before, even, I  face lay underneato offer my youthe years.

    And, elsew see , where?

    In, per castle to ook us, t marvellous castle in which he had been born.

    Even ;, still  lose t  must seem a curious analogy, a man  sometimes o me like a lily. Yes. A lily. Possessed of t strange, ominous calm of a sentient vegetable, like one of te s of a flesensely yielding to touc I   out a long, extinguis: O  me! and it  of  not and, not by virtue of its violence but because of its very gravity.

    , a fire opal t in a complicated circle of dark antique gold. My old nurse, ed at t t, given to an ancestor by Cat came to tle , time out of mind. And did  to  back from t s my marital coup -- tle Marquise -- be-finding. But, oucurned my back pettis  to be reminded  ten teased me in the small hours.