pink rice grains, ink bespattered jelly-fish, crabs like green lilies and submarine toadstools, slide each on the other.
All external marks of abuse are present on this defiant edifice— all the physical features of
ac- cident—lack of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns and hatchet strokes, these things stand out on it; the chasm side is
dead. Repeated evidence has proved that it can live on what cannot revive its youth. The sea grows old in it.
MY APISH COUSINS
winked too much and were afraid of snakes. The zebras, supreme in their abnormality; the elephants with their fog-colored skin and strictly practical appendages were there, the small cats and the parrakeet— trivial and humdrum on examination, destroying bark and portions of the food it could not eat.
I recall their magnificence, now not more magnificent than it is dim. It is difficult to recall the ornament, speech, and precise manner of what one might call the minor acquaintances twenty years back; but I shall never forget—that Gilgamesh among the hairy carnivora—that cat with the
wedge-shaped, slate-gray marks on its forelegs and the resolute tail, astringently remarking: “They have imposed on us with their pale, half fledged protestations, trembling about in inarticulate frenzy, saying it is not for all of us to understand art, finding it all so difficult, examining the thing