. The Ladies' home journal. d on the pile. Can I sit here for a minute? Theyre kindof messed up andll be hard to carry. Hesat down at the next desk and started paw-ing his treasures. He was completely insensitive, I was fascinated by him now, and his glittering shallow eyes and trem-bling fingers he hunched there like madMidas in his counting room. There was noth-ing of the monarch in Wiley, however. Hislarge bony skull lolled forward on thescrawny neck that held it to a famishedframe. The repellent pallor of his skin wasembellished with angry pustules, some ofwhich had
. The Ladies' home journal. d on the pile. Can I sit here for a minute? Theyre kindof messed up andll be hard to carry. Hesat down at the next desk and started paw-ing his treasures. He was completely insensitive, I was fascinated by him now, and his glittering shallow eyes and trem-bling fingers he hunched there like madMidas in his counting room. There was noth-ing of the monarch in Wiley, however. Hislarge bony skull lolled forward on thescrawny neck that held it to a famishedframe. The repellent pallor of his skin wasembellished with angry pustules, some ofwhich had leaked a little yellow fluid. Therest of him was gray—his eyes, lips, his hair seemed gray and sparse. He is dead, I thought, dead with awful mal-nutrition of body and spirit. The last sputter-ing spark in him, constantly stoked withcelluloid images, is being fanned with thoseglossies. Only Hollywood keeps him movingabout in a semblance of life. And lets himdream that he lives. (Continued on Page 99) - ;%?.,. tottefe dm &to 3JjjJ
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