Re-word, Sentence, Page 54

‘But any need in a street, the warrens through which the very aim chances, resulted in lengthy sensuous confusions.’ More are saying that of the year but Victorian cathedrals that once transcended on any doubt or shadow, of a simple builder’s paraphrase of a god, arose, long ago, bent in smoke and fright. The improvisation of moments in time could not own any cruel direction, but it’s not actual, so it’s out, not in, of network. What belts, not from leather, were, long ago, about in forests? What be of intentions for whatever. Now of the flies, flowing back toward industrial excrement and to windowless, gothic states, drive existence from god’s zenith, fashioning some to-be suitable, apical locus and approaching rats climb the brick, shrugging, but in a derangement, as they escape mercy of –

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