I Was Never Concretely Aware Of The

Beneath The Gore And Smoke And Loam, This Book Is About The Evanescence Of Life, And Why Some Men Choose To Fill Their Brief Allotment Of Time Engaging The Impossible, Others In The Manufacture Of Sorrow. In The End It Is A Story Of The Ineluctable Conflict Between Good And Evil, Daylight And Darkness, The White City And The Black.

Leaves Hung In The Stillness Like Hands Of The Newly Dead.

Beneath The Stars The Lake Lay Dark And Sombre," Stead Wrote, "but On Its Shores Gleamed And Glowed In Golden Radiance The Ivory City, Beautiful As A Poet's Dream, Silent As A City Of The Dead.

The Intermittent Depression That Had Shadowed Him Throughout His Adult Life Was About To Envelop Him Once Again.

Time Lost Can Never Be Recovered...and This Should Be Written In Flaming Letters Everywhere.