Ther[idamas]. Won with thy words, & conquered with thy lookes, I yeeld my ſelfe, my men & horſe to thee: To be partaker of thy good or ill, As long as life maintaines Theridimas.

In the sideline-and-up pass, both the receiver and the passer are faking the sideline cut.

Death's black dust, being blown, Infiltrated through every secret fold Of this sealed letter by a puff of fate, Dried up forever the fresh-written ink, Annulled the gift, disutilized the grace, And left these fragments.

'Meatwagon is here,' Warren said as the ambulance pulled up with only one headlight and a smashed grill.