Their idleness, aimless and languid airs.

It was orchestrated to perish in typecast immolation- with words as beautiful as the writer was not- but what he contrived as martyrdom, the estranged other could not.

With laboured precision and resolve he would not only let his heart rest; he would altogether let it go.

Suppose one's conviction were to have no convictions and suppose even that were theatrically broken.

Suppose one's faith were to lie in abandon and abandon supposedly betrayed him.

Suppose one's piety were strictly obligatory until piety was no longer deemed for.

Now, suppose the sum of your follies granted you a glimpse of life in first person.