The evening opens, the scene begins and the Pratt pack enters the stage. A plea for precedence in an industrial age, the ides of winter, nineteen hundred, forty and three.

stanleybandw (2)Liquid crystals blow a bright and bluish glow musing erudition’s quest with a Bing. There was a time not long ago when Dohner donned Ceasar’s crown. Is it true, pray do tell? Was dear Lippincott, his head in the clouds, a brutish beau? Had he loved his king or loved the heir he found?

Nigh is night, thereon thy book we write by candlelight be forthwith snuffed by the flame of pages unremembered and unwritten. – Oh, how ill this taper burns!


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