The system was breaking down. The one who had wandered alone past so many happenings and events began to feel, backing up along the primal vein that led to his center, the beginning of a hiccup that would, if left to gather, explode the center to the extremities of life, the suburbs through which one makes one’s way to where the country is.

Later that night we went to a science laboratory where we were shown a new Abbe microscope. Strindberg listened intently to the technician who demonstrated the improvements over the older type. Then he asked to borrow it and disappeared into 

I mean psycho can’t exist, entertaining invisible ideas about people, including yourself, means that they worry you. They make you a worrier.

Hypothesized: X follows me continually, whenever I go out, for one of several reasons that are mutually exclusive. He is on a mission of reclamation, a private detective hired by my father; he is a police agent; he is an acquaintance in disguise or an acquaintance of someone I know/have known, who wants revenge for a real/unreal offense I have committed.

The penultimate day of term was torrid. The sun, which yesterday had remained smoldering behind low waddings of buttercup-colored cloud, burst through, intercepted only here and there by bouffant, deciduous trees whose green was already changing from spring’s parakeet to early summer’s weathered spinach.

There is, for me, even better news. (“Black oxen cannot tread on my feet forever.”) Mr. Hodge has proposed me for the Knights of the Spindle.

This is the beach that outlined an entire continent. The water on the sand and the water in the air were indistinguishable. At that time, the Emperor was watching the crepe butterflies. He approached the field where his nieces were playing and hid behind some tufted bushes.

Chuckles sounded at odd places around the table. “Ten-sions are oddly distributed here tonight,” Jessica thought.“There’s too much going on of which I’m not aware... I’ll have to develop new information sources.”

The red and cream Santa Fe Trailways bus pitched and rocked along the cracking, heat-racked asphalt. Around the square, jagged Rupp comers, along the dust-haloed fields, across the Twin Bridges, past windbreaks and leaning, paint-less barns, past sagging, rusted barbed wire, and turned left at the cemetery, turned by the yellow, condemned (no fire es-capes) mausoleum.

They lay side by side on that deserted coast. The beach below them stretched out each side into infinity, they had been there an hour or so and no one had passed within those miles of sands. At first they had watched the shipping through his binoculars, but the wind had flattened them, pushing them down.