I was perfectly stunned. I sat and moistened my lips a little, but otherwise made no effort to do anything: my chest was in a pitiful state.

The chattering, irrational brute of the subconscious clothes itself in the tattered garments of rationality and idealism.

Over the broadest there seemed to spring a cragged and stupendous arch, from which, as from the jaws of hell, gushed the sources of the sudden Phlegethon.

Come on, thou are granted ſpace.