A Dirge For Her The Doubly Dead

The Eye, Like A Shattered Mirror, Multiplies The Images Of Sorrow

Prophet!" Said I, "thing Of Evil! - Prophet Still, If Bird Or Devil! By That Heaven That Bends Above Us- By That God We Both Adore- Tell This Soul With Sorrow Laden If, Within The Distant Aidenn, It Shall Clasp A Sainted Maiden Whom The Angels Name Lenore- Clasp A Rare And Radiant Maiden Whom The Angels Name Lenore." Quoth The Raven, "nevermore.

In The Tale Proper--where There Is No Space For Development Of Character Or For Great Profusion And Variety Of Incident--mere Construction Is, Of Course, Far More Imperatively Demanded Than In The Novel.

I Have, Indeed, No Abhorrence Of Danger, Except In Its Absolute Effect - In Terror.

I Wish I Could Write As Mysterious As A Cat.