Age. Pyramids in sand. Built on bread and onions. Slaves. Chinese wall. Babylon. Big stones left. Round towers. Rest rubble sprawling suburbs jerrybuilt Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Shelter for the night. No one is anything. This is the very worst hour of the day. Vitality. Dull gloomy: hate this hour. Feel as if I had been eaten and spewed. Provost's house. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Well tinned.
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With a piece of it in my hand; but as I grew clearer headed I perceived the vanity of that notion. Years later the rock came back to me. I was walking down by Moon Creek with my sons when they were small boys. The younger one saw the rock in the water and picked it up saying "A world!" I told him to keep it in his heya-box which he did. When he died I put that rock back in the water of Moon Creek. I had been in the vision for the first two days and nights of the Twenty-One Days of the Sun. I was very weak and tired and they kept me in the heyimas all the rest of the Twenty-One Days. I could hear the long-singing and sometimes I went into other rooms of the heyimas; they made me welcome even in the inmost room where they were singing and dancing the Inner Sun and where I had entered the vision. I would sit and listen and half-watch. But if I tried to.
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