As an author, you have not passed away “like a weaver’s shuttle,” and not one of your modest tomes is dust-ridden or smells of mortality.

In 1950 the Letterist, Maurice Lemaltre, had published Riff-raff, a ten-page metagraphy, which included a sequence that zoomed from the solar system through a drawing of the earth to maps of Europe, France, and Paris, and Finally one of Saint Germain de Prés.

Similar studies of rats have employed four different intracranial resorbable, slow sustained release systems—surgical foam, a thermal gel depot, a microcapsule or biodegradable polymer beads.

Perhaps out of England such an intimacy could hardly have existed—an intimacy so utterly untinctured not only by passion itself but by the suspicion of it.