In the first morning hours, he rose from his comfortable bed in his Denizen apartment and looked out of his window at the awakening activities on Golden Lane—at the street-cleaners, bin men, and the other dingy workers flitting hurriedly by through the sallow winter light. Oh, to be one of them—any of them—to take his chance in any of their skins! They were the toilers—the men whose lot was pitied—the victims wept over and ranted about by altruists and economists; and how gladly he would have taken up the load of any one of them, if only he might have shaken off his own! But, no—the iron circle of consciousness held them too: each one was chained to his own hideous ego. Why wish to be any one man rather than another? The only absolute good was not to be.
May all your investments fail! May whispering sounds keep you from sleep! May unease dog your every step! May ominous darkness envelope you! May ghastly shadows menace you! May dreadful loneliness befall you! May spine tingling shrieks terrify you! May the living dead pursue you! May your skin crawl for no reason at all! May eerie silences unnerve you! Cower in fear as the curses the Cripplegate Coven come true!