'' wearied with the commonplaces of a prosaic world, ... st.john and i had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movment which promised respite from our devestating ennui ... which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear i mention with shame and timidity--that hideous extremity of human outrage, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing ...
'' our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled an universe of terror and decay to excite our jaded sensibilities ... it was a secret room, far, far underground; around the walls of this repellant chamber were cases of antique mummies ... niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution ...
'' statues and paintings there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by st.john and myself. a locked portfolio bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnamable drawings which it was rumoured goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge ... whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity ...
'' it is of this loot in particular that i must not speak ...thank god i had the courage to destroy it long before i thought of destroying myself.'' h.p.lovecraft, the hound.
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