"Twenty-nine's Fell Shadow! O, inhospitably final year of any Pretense to Youth, its Dreams now, how wither'd away...tho' styl'd a Prime, yet bid'st thou Adieu to the Prime of Life!...There,--there, in the Stygian Mists of Futurity, loometh the dread Thirty,-- Transition unspeakable! Prime so soon fa"
"something else coming, here," Dixon advises.
Mason looks up. "Aahhr! the Natives from the Kitchen,-- Maskelyne! what is it, a Cannibal Sacrifice?-- "
"No!" Maskelyne screams, "Worse!"
"Worse?" Dixon murmurs, by which time all can see the Candles upon the great iced Cake, being borne out to them a"