ey ly like a skeleton. You could see every line of t, and lantern jaeet like ton in an anatomical museum. And yet rong as iron, as to be a ce different, too. Ser e, agonized bello and letting out yell for etremendous, c o and fro underground. out, you aly more in reserve. tummy.
to get up a kind of antip, especially in t e life, but in my kid’s o imagine t trying to s one anoter ‘tely. You aler. I used especially to look foro t psalm t about Sies and Og t King Zog’s name er art off es’, t of tion singing tidal remendous, rumbling, subterranean barrel-noise t into t
later, , I formed a picture in my mind’s eye of Si Egyptian statues t I’d seen pictures of in tone statues ty feet ting on te one anot mysterious smile on their faces.
came back to me! t peculiar feeling—it describe it as an activity—t o call ‘C corpsy smell, tle of Sunday dresses, t of lig it across t traordinary performance ook it for granted, just as you took t in big doses in texts on every . by . Even nos out of t of til to Beerse ood it, you didn’t try to or to, it a kind of medicine, a queer-tasting stuff t you o so be in some raordinary rigmarole about people iff garments and Assyrian beards, riding up and doemples and cedar trees and doing extraordinary t offerings, in fiery furnaces, getting nailed on crosses, getting she organ.
t back to King Zog. For a moment I didn’t merely remember it, I . Of course suc last more t later it y-five and traffic jam in trand. But it a kind of after-effect beimes rain of t you feel as if you er, but time it , it I’d been breato speak, all tling to and fro, and ters and trol-stink and to me less real ty-eight years ago.
I c noroug-place ts nose- bag. At t-s a iger sitting being-sergeant in jacket, tig, is strutting up and doing ac indsor, God’s in ’s on tes and Og tting on t one anot doing anytly, just existing, keeping ted place, like a couple of fire-dogs, or the Unicorn.
Is it gone for ever? I’m n