Today's Stichomancy for Leo Tolstoy

convinced that some horrible fate awaited her at the headquarters of Tal Hajus.

As described by Sola, this monster was the exaggerated personification of all the ages of cruelty, ferocity, and brutality from which he had descended. Cold, cunning, calculating; he was, also, in marked contrast to most of his fellows, a slave to that brute passion which the waning demands for procreation upon their dying planet has almost stilled in the Martian breast.

The thought that the divine Dejah Thoris might fall into the clutches of such an abysmal atavism started the cold

altars, or smiling, if it be his fancy, at strange new gods. What other people call one's past has, no doubt, everything to do with them, but has absolutely nothing to do with oneself. The man who regards his past is a man who deserves to have no future to look forward to. When one has found expression for a mood, one has done with it. You laugh; but believe me it is so. Yesterday it was Realism that charmed one. One gained from it that NOUVEAU FRISSON which it was its aim to produce. One analysed it, explained it, and wearied of it. At sunset came the LUMINISTE in painting, and the SYMBOLISTE in poetry, and the spirit of mediaevalism, that spirit which belongs not to time but to temperament, woke suddenly

Come hizzing in upon 'em- Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. Fool. He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them straight. [To Edgar] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer. [To the Fool] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes! Edg. Look, where he stands and glares! Want'st thou eyes at trial, madam?

King Lear