Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. She was quite unconcerned. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724. " The doctor was forced to admit the truth of this. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages.
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