No. 83: Nest. Almost felled by an attack of anxiety as sharp and heavy as an axe, he set about desperately winding and weaving a mile of red cable into the semblance of a capacious red nest. It had been like knitting on a more or less obtuse scale. But his resulting nest was as warm as a fire in the fireplace, and offered the pulse, the resilience, of a bodily organ (at first he was irrationally afraid he had knitted his own heart).. Sometimes, when he lay stretched out upon it, he could feel its circulatory beating. Good, he thought. If his scarlet nest were alive, so was he.

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