If This Is What You Do To

I'm Not Very Good At Creating Worlds. I Prefer To Write About The World As It Is.

Your Temperature's Normal, Though I'd Say It's The Only Thing About You That Is.

He Had Followed The Trail Left By A Dead Man. It Was Only Now That He Realized It Might Lead Only To A Grave.

I Hear It Still. As I Lay Down My Pen And Take To My Bed, I Am Aware Of The Bow Being Drawn Across The Bridge And The Music Rises Into The Night Sky. It Is Far Away And Barely Audible - But There It Is! A Pizzicato. Then A Tremelo. The Style Is Unmistakable. It Is Sherlock Holmes Who Is Playing. It Must Be. I Hope With All My Heart That He Is Playing For Me . . .

Go To Venice. Find Scorpia. And You Will Find Your Destiny.