Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 181 - Up From Earth's Center

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UP FROM EARTH'S CENTER
A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
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"Up from earth's center by the seventh gate,
I rose and on the throne of Saturn sat-
And many a knot unraveled by the road,
But not the master knot of human fate-"
OMAR KHAYYAM
I
THE hours became days, and the days grew into weeks, and the weeks followed one another into a dull
and terrible haze of time in which nothing really changed. Gilmore had scooped a shallow pit in the
eroding chalk at the edge of a cliff, roofed it with a crude thatched trapdoor which he could close against
the black things of night, and he spent the majority of his time there.
For a time, during Indian summer, one day was like another. It was then that Gilmore lost his shirt. He
took off the shirt and arranged it carefully and, he thought, safely on the sandy beach, while he waded
into the sea to stand motionless in hopes of clubbing an unwary fish for food. A huge and dour gray
seagull, a typically thievish knave of a seagull, carried the shirt away. It was a sports shirt, and its gaudy
plastic buttons fascinated the gull.
It was a small thing. The thin shirt was practically worthless as a protective garment. But Gilmore took it
hard.
He ran wildly after the seagull, and the bird flapped out to sea, packing the shirt in its beak with gull-like
greed. Gilmore, unable to swim, ran, screaming, up and down the beach, and when he was exhausted, he
fell on his face and sobbed.
During the ensuing few days of Indian summer, Gilmore tried to teach himself to swim. He was
unsuccessful, probably because he had no real heart left to put into it. It was pointless, anyway. A man
could not swim the Atlantic.
The warm days ended. Winter came. The pools of rainwater in the potholes in the island stone began to
have thin crusts of ice, and the rocks became bone-colored with coatings of frost.
Gilmore made hardly a move to thwart the certainty of freezing to death. It was too much of a certainty
for him to compete against. It was inevitable. His pants now were frayed into shorts, and he stuffed them
with dry seaweed, and tied seaweed about himself with other seaweed for binding until he resembled an
ambulatory pile of the smelly stuff. Actually, it did no good, and it soon became definitely established in
his mind that he would freeze to death. He began to wait for death almost as one would await a friend.
But rescue got there before death, although at first it was dull and undramatic.
Gilmore was sitting on a stone, contemplating eternity, when a pleasant voice hailed him. "Hello, there,"
the voice said. 'Are you the proprietor of this heavenly spot?"
A glaze settled over Gilmore's sore eyes, and for a long time he did not turn around. In fact, he did not
turn until he had conducted quite an odd conversation, in a small choking voice.
"So you finally got to me," Gilmore said. His voice had the hopelessness of a soul lost in interstellar
space.
"Yeah. It took a little time to climb the cliff." The voice contained some pleasant surprise. "I didn't think
you had seen us. You didn't give any sign. We were rather puzzled."
Gilmore shuddered and said, "I don't always see you, do I?"
"Huh?"
"Us?" Gilmore continued, selecting carefully from the words the pleasant voice had said. "Us? We? Is
there more than one of you now?"
"There are eighteen of us," the voice said. "Say, what's the matter with you, fellow?"
"So you went back for more experienced help!" Gilmore went on.
"Eighteen of you!" croaked Gilmore. "Good God! They must have depleted the staff!"
"What staff?"
"The executive personnel in hell!" said Gilmore bitterly.
"Who are you kidding?" the amiably friendly voice inquired.
Now Gilmore swung around, to stare at the stranger, and to lose his composure until he was a shaking,
gibbering man. Gilmore saw, standing before him, a tall middle-aged man with a fat ruddy face and a
sheepskin greatcoat and a faint odor of good hair pomade that oddly fitted the icy island wind. Gilmore
saw beyond the man, on the chopping sea, a sailing yacht of about eighty feet waterline, schooner-rigged,
and on the beach a dory with shipped oars and a couple of waiting sailors in thick blue peacoats.
Strangers all. Man, yacht, dory, sailors, all strangers and inconceivable. Unacceptable, an illusion, a
figment concocted out of ghastly chicanery, a work of Satan as far as Gilmore could understand.
So Gilmore darted off the rock and fled screaming and whimpering, going as fast as a starvation-ridden
string of bones could travel. Dr. Karl Linningen caught him easily, although the doctor was a portly,
languid individual who secretly believed that exercise was poisonous.
THE schooner yacht, by name the Mary Too, sailed southward and westward over the heaving cold
green seas, eventually rounding to the south of the Canadian-owned island of Campobello, and beating
up through the narrowing tidal channel of Lubec, a small fishing village which is the most easternmost
settlement in the United States, as far east in Maine as one can travel on dry land.
Dr. Karl Linningen, who was a psychiatrist by profession, and quite deserving of the title eminent, had by
that time spent a goodly interval probing at Gilmore's body, and fishing in Gilmore's mind, and Dr. Karl
was a puzzled man.
The tide in the rip that squirts past Lubec's stony chin was running a hellish stream when the Mary Too
careened in, passed the stone jetty, wallowed about and labored into smoother water just off the docks
where the sardine boats unloaded, and dropped anchor.
Dr. Karl immediately prepared to go ashore. Of the several guests aboard, none were doctors, because
Dr. Karl felt that a man should get away from the familiar in order to relax. "You turn a race-horse into a
pasture with other race-horses, and he's going to continue acting like a race-horse," was the way he
phrased it. "When I'm on vacation, I want plow-horses in my pasture. One of the plow-horses was Bill
Williams; a sports announcer on the radio, and the others were a broker, a shoe-shop owner, and three
insurance men.
"You seem hell-bent to get ashore remarked Bill Williams, noting the doctor's preparations."
"That's right."
"Going to be gone long?"
"Don't know."
"What about our wild boy off the island?" Bill Williams asked. "Want to prescribe any medicine to give
him in case you're gone a while?"
"He's the reason I'm in a hurry to get ashore," Dr. Karl muttered. "You can have him." Dr. Karl grinned
wryly. "But keep him around until I get back, will you?"
"You mean if he wants to go ashore, tell him he can't?"
"In a gentlemanly way."
"And in case the gentlemanly way doesn't work, then what shall we do?"
Dr. Karl examined Bill Williams' considerable length, noting there were still a few signs of the old football
framework under the lazy lard, and said, "I imagine you could manage suitable restraint, Bill."
"What is the legal leg I stand on while restraining?" Bill Williams asked.
After hesitating, Dr. Karl said wryly, "I could fix that up, I suppose. Mind you, don't cripple him or
anything."
"Gad, we sound like pirates consorting." Williams chuckled. "I get the picture. You think it wouldn't be
any trouble to prove he was nuts and needed restraining. Righto. I'll keep your wild boy here for you."
Dr. Karl gripped the rail preparatory to swinging over into the dinghy, but turned to remark, "Why call
him my wild boy?"
"Huh? Isn't he?" Williams inquired.
A wry smile touched Dr. Karl's lips. "No more than yours. Not as much. It was your donkeylike work as
a steersman that brought us close enough to the witch's cake of a rock that we happened to see the poor
looney." He dropped down into the dinghy, it rocked only a little under his expertly balanced weight, and
he untied the painter after pulling the little craft along the rail with his strong hands.
"Back in an hour or two, Bill," he said, and took up the oars.
He used the oars in a powerful feathering stroke that sent the blades deep, then brought them back clear
and flashing on returns. Dr. Linningen liked the sea, and he was not happy that he saw less and less of it
as the years passed, nor was he pleased that this Gilmore had intruded into one of his rare vacation
voyages. And Gilmore had intruded, all right. From the very first, he had been an article Dr. Karl couldn't
ignore. No psychiatrist could have ignored him.
There was too much that was puzzling.
The Customs was in a gray wooden building beside the ferry slip, and Dr. Karl stopped there to check in
and explain about Gilmore, and to answer the resulting questions.
"Is he an American citizen?" the official wished to know.
"Born in Kansas, I would say." And when the official's eyes widened doubtfully, Dr. Karl added quickly,
'A matter of accents. I have studied them. The fellow has really told us almost nothing about himself,
except to call him by the name of Gilmore."
"You mean he's too crazy to tell you anything about himself, Doc?"
"Crazy? That's too conclusive a word. His mental state hasn't permitted confidences or explanations"
"Be O.K. if I went out and talked to this Gilmore?"
"Go ahead, if you wish. It will do no harm, and probably no good."
"Then I will," the Customs officer said.
Dr. Karl nodded amiably, then changed the subject by asking, "How is the survey on the Quoddy project
coming?"
"That engineer from New York, Renwick, is still around here," the official explained. "But they aren't
puffing out any information that I've heard." He eyed the doctor curiously. "You read about it in the
newspapers?"
Dr. Karl shook his head, said, "Radio." Then he went to the window, one facing north toward the area
that had been the scene, some fifteen years before, of the Quoddy project for harnessing the resources of
the terrific Fundy tides. A thin fog veiled the area, but he could see the stony islands that had been
intended as an anchor for one of the dams that had never been built because Congress had concluded
Quoddy was just so much dream stuff. "I happen to know this engineer, Renwick, and his associate, Doc
Savage," Dr. Karl said suddenly. "That was the reason I asked."
The Customs man straightened; interest splashed over him like a stinging bath.
"Doc Savage?" the man repeated. "You're a friend of Doc Savage?"
Dr. Karl turned, lowered a shoulder deprecatingly, explaining, "In a professional sense, only." He
prepared to leave, but hesitated when be noticed how the official was staring at him. "Something
wrong?"
"I'm sorry," the officer said. He grinned. "This Doc Savage, a man with a reputation like that, you sort of
wonder if he's real. Kind of a shock when you run across someone who really knows him."
"Savage is real enough." Dr. Karl moved to the door. "I sort of wondered if he would be around, visiting
his associate Renwick."
"That would be something," the officer said. He followed the doctor to the door. "That would be
something! Well, doctor, I'll look at this zany you picked off a rock and we'll probably let him in on your
say-so. Be a shame to keep a guy out of this country just because he's a little nuts, considering some
we've already got." The man was chuckling over his joke as Dr. Karl walked away.
THE rooming house stood on the rocky brow of a hill that formed the backbone of the town of Lubec.
An ancient and large house, it had woodwork of teak fetched in sailing ships from the Orient, and could
have been bought during the depression for five hundred dollars. The old lady who opened the door
peered blankly and asked, "Who?"
"Savage," said Dr. Karl. "Doc Savage. Clark Savage, Jr. The Man of Bronze. All one and the same
individual."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said the old lady.
"Who is the landlady?"
"That's me."
Dr. Karl looked unsmilingly at the old face that was as crinkled and expressionless as a deflated toy
balloon, and in a moment he asked, "Is Colonel John Renwick here? Renny Renwick?"
The old lady took her time. "Him? He over on the work."
"What time will Renwick be back?"
"Maybe about six. Maybe not."
Dr. Karl grinned wryly. "Thank you, madam. Would you tell him Old Doc Linningen called. Tell him also
that if he wishes a decent cup of coffee, to drop aboard my schooner this evening sometime."
The old lady stiffened angrily. "What's the matter with my coffee?" she snapped.
Dr. Karl looked surprised, then said, "Why, it's nectar, I'm sure." He had turned away and was halfway
to the gate when the old woman suddenly yelled, "I make the best damn coffee in the state of Maine!"
and slammed the door.
Grinning, wondering just what the old lady thought the word nectar meant, Dr. Karl walked back toward
the waterfront. All routes from the top of Lubec's hill led downward, and presently Dr. Karl began a
descent. He found himself walking rapidly, jarringly, as one does down a hill. Then he began running. Not
running fast, just taking a series of crow-hops that must have looked rather ridiculous, and really were
ridiculous because he couldn't stop himself. Finally, he had to throw out his hands and grasp a picket in a
fence, and stopped himself with a jerk.
He rested there a moment to recover. "Sea legs," he muttered, putting in words the answer that seemed
to explain his descent of the hill. But in a moment, when he began to descend again, he fell to running, and
was helpless against it, and brought himself up only by steering against the side of a building. This
happened once more, and he was perspiring and upset in his mind when he reached the foot of the
street.
Kroeger, one of the crew, had watched him, and he saw Kroeger conceal a grin. Dr. Karl, irritated,
snapped, "Dammit, man, I didn't have a drop!"
"I'm sure you didn't, sir," Kroeger said hastily, then added, "I came ashore in the other dink for supplies.
Shall I give you a tow back to the vessel, sir?"
"No, thanks, Kroeger. I learned to row a boat several years ago," Dr. Karl said with a vehemence which
he saw at once was excessively childish. But he did row back to the schooner in excellent style, and
would have carried off a triumphant return if Gilmore hadn't started screaming and throwing things at
him.
There was little sense to Gilmore's squalling, less to the things he threw. He just hurled what he could get
his hands on - an oar, a boathook, a cushion, two life preservers, a lead squid used for mackerel trolling,
the brass cover off the compass binnacle. Then Bill Williams, bouncing up from below decks, pinned
poor Gilmore's arms and stopped the fusillade.
By the time Dr. Karl climbed thoughtfully aboard, Bill Williams had wrestled Gilmore below, and
Kroeger had retrieved the thrown articles, except for the squid and the binnacle cover, which sank. Dr.
Karl heard the unmistakable sound of a blow from the cabin, then Bill Williams reappeared, holding his
right hand with his left.
"You shouldn't have struck him," Dr. Karl said.
"That's right. I darn near knocked down a knuckle. But that binnacle cover cost good money, didn't it?"
"No more than ten dollars, and he obviously wasn't responsible."
"Ten bucks is ten bucks, and he threw it in the drink," Bill Williams said. He shrugged. "O.K., maybe I
shouldn't have hung one on him. Come to think of it, that was kind of silly of me, wasn't it?"
"Why did you?" Dr. Karl asked.
"Why, because - well, I fancied the idea at the time. I don't know. I hit him, and now I don't know why."
Bill Williams looked confused. "Funny thing for me to do. I kind of like the guy.
"Did Gilmore say anything while you were struggling with him?"
"Nothing very coherent. Cussing - No wait. I think I did catch something about keeping Mr. Wail from
getting aboard."
"Who?"
"Wail, or Wales, or Whale, something like that. It was confused." Bill Williams grinned wryly. "I wonder
who Mr. Wail is to our guest Gilmore?"
Dr. Karl did not answer, and Bill Williams, who had not really looked squarely at Linningen since coming
on deck, did so now. A considerable surprise wrenched at Williams, and he said, "You look pale! Aren't
you feeling well? Did that loon hit you with something?"
"He didn't hit me with anything he threw," Dr. Karl replied grimly.
"Well, you look as if there was a rattlesnake in your pocket."
Linningen glanced oddly at the man, then away. And they were below in the main cabin, having a bracer,
before Linningen muttered, "I would buy he rattler in preference."
He did not say anything further to remove Williams' resulting puzzled stare.
Later Dr. Karl stretched out on his bunk and endeavored to do what he frequently advised his patients to
do, relax, take it easy, and grin away the worries, He was quite good at that; he frequently said that all a
really good psychiatrist needs is the ability to show a patient how to kick his problems in the nose, and he
could do this successfully with his patients. He didn't have much luck with himself now, however.
When he realized he was becoming wet with perspiration, he got up and took a shower.
Over the splashing water, he heard Kroeger shouting on deck. Lunging topside with a towel for clothing,
he saw that Bill Williams, who could hardly row a boat in calm water, was trying to scull with one oar in
the direction of Campobello Island, which lay half a mile distant across the tidal channel. The tide was
now in full rip, and no place for a greenhorn in a dinghy.
Shouting angrily, Kroeger was in pursuit of Williams in the other dinghy, and he caught Williams, who
apparently had thrown the other oar away. Kroeger towed Williams and the dinghy back, not without
difficulty, making angry comments to which Williams gave a dazed, stupefied silence.
"Williams, what in thunderation were you trying to do?" Dr. Karl demanded.
Williams went below without a word of answer. He was pale. Kroeger asked, "What made Mr. Williams
do a fool thing like that? He knows he's no hand with a boat. He'd have drowned sure, out in that rip."
Tense, an edge riding his voice, Dr. Karl asked, "Did you see him start out? How did he act?"
Kroeger had a queer look. "My God, yes. He just got in the dinghy, like a man sleepwalking. He untied
the painter. Then he threw the oar away. He began to scull. Only he can't scull. He can't even row a boat
decent. I yelled at him. He didn't pay no attention. So I overtook him, and when I did, I asked him what
the hell he thought he was doing, and you know what he said to me? He said, "I was going after Mr.
Wail." That's what he said. Just that. Then he looked more dazed than before, and he hasn't said a word
since.
"What was that name?"
"Wail. A Mr. Wail, he said."
Dr. Karl swung about and dropped down into the cabin. Williams was pouring himself a drink. A strong
one. He looked up, and his face was strained and his deep-throated radio-announcer's voice was a thin
harpish thing as he said,
"Don't ask me what the devil made me do that. I don't know."
"But you did know it was dangerous to get out in the tide rip with just one oar!"
"I should have," Williams muttered.
"What did you mean when you told Kroeger you were going after a Mr. Wail?"
Williams stared at his glass for a long time, as if he were afraid of the glass, and as if he were afraid of the
things in his mind. "I didn't say anything like that to Kroeger," he muttered thickly.
Dr. Karl wheeled, and now he felt terror where he had been only puzzled, or perhaps it had been terror
all along, and he had refused to recognize it as such. It was more heroic to be puzzled than afraid; it
always is, he thought with horror. He jerked open the door of the cabin where Gilmore was, and saw the
man inside lying on a bunk. "Gilmore!" Dr. Karl yelled.
But Gilmore was not dead. He rolled his head enough so that Dr. Karl saw his blank, wasted face and
the pools of terror and desperation that the man's eyes had been from the time they found him on the
island.
Closing and locking the door of the cabin, Dr. Karl told Kroeger, "Keep that man in there. I'm going
ashore. Keep him there until I get back. And nobody else goes ashore. Nobody, understand!"
He went ashore, wrenching the little dinghy madly through the water with great oar strokes.
II
TWO small near-accidents happened to Dr. Karl Linningen during the next ten minutes. He did not at the
time, he realized later, pay them the attention they deserved.
First, he almost fell out of the dinghy, which was a ridiculous thing to do, because he had been rowing
small boats since he began breathing, practically. He swore briefly and bitterly about it, feeling it was a
mishap due to overanxiety.
Still, if he had taken a dive into the icy water and ripping tide, he might have had a difficult go. He was
not much of a swimmer, and the gulls were screaming and crying the sounds that a drowning man might
have used to appeal for help.
Secondly, he was nearly run down by a car. That, too, seemed a mishap fitting his mood, the steepness
and narrowness of the Lubec street, and the general confusion of things. It was a small car, quite ancient;
after it was past, Dr. Karl noted that its rattle was a great thing like a whirlwind crossing a city dump, and
he wondered how he could have missed such a clatter. The driver of the car? Dr. Karl tried to remember
later. He thought it was a round little amiable man with large shining eyes, a little man who radiated a
lovely temperament, the way a stove dispenses heat. A little guy you just naturally would like. Anyway,
the old car missed Dr. Karl and so it did not seem too important.
Eventually, he got where he was going in such a hurry.
THE old lady said, "You!" and blew out her cheeks with sudden rage, causing all her wrinkles to
disappear from the lower part of her face. "Who told you my coffee was no good?" she demanded.
Dr. Karl Linningen breathed heavily. "I'd like to see Doc Savage. It's very urgent. If I can find Mr.
Renwick, he could help me locate Savage, I'm sure."
"My coffee - "
"I complimented your coffee, madam."
"You what?"
"I said it was nectar, probably. Very good, no doubt. I presumed it would be good, madam, without
having sampled it." Dr. Karl was not very patient.
"Now is that so?" There was no friendliness in the old woman's eye. "Who you talk about?"
"Doc Savage. Renny Renwick."
"Not know either one.
Dr. Karl glared at her. "Madam, no doubt you're a character in your own opinion, and another time I
might pretend to be amused. Just now, however, I've got damned important business with Doc Savage,
and to find him, I've got to get hold of his aid, Renwick. When will Renwick be home?"
The old lady shrugged and started to close the door. Dr. Karl hastily inserted his toe in the crack, and
shouted, "I want an answer! Where is Renwick!"
The woman glowered, asked, "You want to pull back a stub?" pointing at the foot in the door. Then she
tried abruptly to kick Dr. Karl's shin. He was too quick, and shoved the door back while she was
distracted. He entered the room.
The old lady backed away yelling, "Mr. Savage! Doc Savage!"
A rather striking man's voice from the room to the left said, "Easy does it, Marie. I was listening." The
man appeared in the connecting door, and Dr. Karl recognized him immediately as Doc Savage.
Dr. Linningen had exaggerated somewhat when he said he knew Doc Savage. He had met the bronze
man, and that was the extent of it. So he was astonished when Savage looked at him steadily and asked,
"What is it, Dr. Linningen? You seem excited."
"I was here earlier!" Dr. Karl snapped. "I was told you weren't about. Not known here, as a
matter-of-fact."
"You had better come upstairs, doctor."
"This is a funny kind of welcome. I'm not sure I like it."
Doc Savage shrugged. "You came without an invitation, doctor." He lifted a hand, adding, "I am going
upstairs, if you care to follow." He turned and mounted the stairs, and suddenly, when he was halfway
up, he turned to say sharply, "If you do come up, it had better be for something worthwhile. We do not
like pointless interruptions."
Dr. Karl snorted, but this hesitation lasted only a moment, and he followed the bronze man, thinking of
some of the things he knew about Doc Savage, and of other things he had heard. He knew that Savage
was an extremely fine surgeon, rather a wizard, for the man had devised some procedures in brain
surgery that were exceptional, and his measurements of cerebrifugal voltages were outstanding
contributions to tabular analysis.
The man's physical build, Dr. Karl reflected, was more of a clue to his adventurous nature. Linningen was
not small, but Doc Savage dwarfed him, and there was a metallic efficiency about the man, a dynamic
force, a quality of power under close control, that was disturbing. Savage was not a man whose stature
shrank on lengthening acquaintance.
They went into a rear second-floor room which had a spread of windows and much neat comfort.
Linningen faced Savage and demanded, "Why be so hard to get to?"
Doc Savage appeared not to hear the question, but went to one of the windows and pulled back the
curtains so that more of the afternoon sunlight could get in. Linningen, scowling because his question had
been ignored, was about to speak when Savage forestalled him with a demand that was like a slap in the
face. "What has driven you so far into fear, doctor?" Savage asked.
Linningen winced. "What's that?"
"You're a scared man, doctor."
"Oh, I am, am I?" Linningen growled, sounding like a small boy beginning a behind-the-schoolhouse
brawl. "What gives you that idea? And did you notice that you're being a little insulting?"
"You feel that you're being insulted?" Doc asked dryly.
"I certainly do."
Doc Savage looked him over thoughtfully. "You're lucky, Linningen, that you weren't kicked out of here.
You forced your way in, you know, by bulldozing an old lady. What do you think of that for bad
manners?"
Linningen had taken a chair. He jumped up. "I'm leaving!" he snapped.
"Sit down," Doc Savage directed, "and get it off your chest."
"The devil with you!" Linningen shouted. He was halfway to the door when Doc Savage laid a firm grip
on his arm, halting him. There followed a brief interval when Linningen debated taking a swing at the big
bronze man, and also imagined what would probably happen to him. He grimaced.
'All right, Savage, the rough stuff wins. But I must say that I came up here for your co-operation, not
your persecution."
"Sit down, Linningen."
"Oh, all right. Take your hands off me." Linningen resumed his chair.
"Now, doctor, what's on your mind?" Doc Savage asked bluntly.
"I must say, Linningen retorted, "that this wasn't the way I hoped to start off."
"Let's not worry about the way it started, since it's already started," Doc Savage told him. "Let's be
bothered about the ending. Go ahead with your troubles."
Doctor Linningen shrugged, scowled, got out a cigar, and noticed that the tobacco wrapper was broken
and the cigar partly crushed. Without lifting his eyes, he remarked, "You seemed to know me by sight."
"Why shouldn't I know you?" Doc Savage countered. "You're a psychiatrist of some reputation. You
have been in audiences to which I lectured."
"Yes, I heard you twice, and each time I was one in an audience of about three hundred specialists,"
Linningen said grudgingly. "You mean you noticed me?"
"You weren't in the audience either time by accident, doctor."
"What do you mean?"
"Just this. Every man in those lecture audiences was carefully selected, whether or not he knew it. They
were checked over, the quacks weeded out, and invitations given only to those who would be intelligent
摘要：

UPFROMEARTH'SCENTERADocSavageAdventurebyKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?I?II?III?IV?V?VI?VII?VIII?IX?X?XI"Upfromearth'scenterbytheseventhgate,IroseandonthethroneofSaturnsat-Andmanyaknotunraveledbytheroad,Butnotthemasterknotofhumanfate-"OMARKHAYYAMITHEhour...

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