Ignited by the tossed butt of a still-smouldering cigar that lodged in the cracks of the uneven floorboards, the theatre at Rid where Mrs Poe had made her last appearance buro the ground three weeks after her death. Ashes. Although Mr Allan told Edgar how all of his mother that was mortal had been buried in her coffin, Edgar khe somebody elses she so frequently became lived in her dressing-table mirror and were not strained by the physical laws that made her body rot. But now the mirror, too, was gone; and all the lovely and untouchable, volatile, unreal mothers went up together in a puff of smoke on a pyre of props and painted sery.
The sparks from this flagration rose high in the air, where they lodged in the sky to bee a stellation of stars whily Edgar saw and then only oain still nights of summer, those hot, rich, blue, mellow nights the slaves brought with them from Africa, weather that ferments the music of exile, weather of heartbreak and fever. ……（内容加载失败！）
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