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The Stylite At first theyd raise their eyes to me and laugh think me selfish sharp crow in a black cape crouching on his spire beside a pile of books gilt-edged vertigo and no talk with anyone murder mysteries the woman would send secretly up to me until the world was filled with butlers Evilfellows with quinine smiles all of them butlers on Tahitian islands carrying silver trays and no explanation for the Lord their Cod as the distant waves broke soundlessly on brilliant tropical birches... My eyes are fading. From this height I could look down and see a dime when I was young pre-Roosevelt and Mercury was only Secretary of the Navy at the time Needles glinting with just a hint of purpose. The biggest question is how I got here to shinny up 45 feet of marble two elms thick seems impossible enough t