As I was cantering across the soft, newly-turned soil of the fields, with nothing more ominous in sight than a startled brood of partridges and the large, setting sun in the distance above the rolling landscape, that cellar, crowded with the death throes of a swarm of rats, suddenly opened up inside me . . . the high-pitched death screams echoing off mildewed walls; the contorted spasms of unconsciousness; all the confused and frenzied dashing about; the crazed lunges . . . the cold leers of rage . . . gnashing of teeth!
Hugo von Hofmannsthal, "The Lord Chandos Letter"
