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Slain

by John Vance Cheney

War met him, and fell pestilence,

Sore toil and want, all the dread foes of every day;

These he struck down, then went he hence,

Sent by a soft cat-thing that clawed him in her play.

Books must follow sciences, and not sciences books.

• Francis Bacon

In the late night listening from bed I have joined the ambulance or the patrol screaming toward some drama, the kind of end that Berky must have ...