Oh Constance, We Are So Happy.

On The Moon We Wore Feathers In Our Hair, And Rubies On Our Hands. On The Moon We Had Gold Spoons.

It Is Only With The Eyes Open That A Corporeal Form Returns, And Assembles Itself Firmly Around The Hard Core Of Sight.

Within, Walls Continued Upright, Bricks Met Neatly, Floors Were Firm, And Doors Were Sensibly Shut; Silence Lay Steadily Against The Wood And Stone Of Hill House, And Whatever Walked There, Walked Alone.

There Had Not Been This Many Words Sounded In Our House For A Long Time, And It Was Going To Take A While To Clean Them Out.

God! Whose Hand Was I Holding?