Measuring the Degree, they may have intended to hide somehow, inside the Work-day,— surrendering, as openly as they ever could, into a desire to transcend their differently discomforted lives, through what, at the end of the Day, would be but Ranks and Files of Numerals, ever in the Darkness of Pages unopen’d and unturn’d, Ink already begun to fade, from Type since melted and re-cast numberless times,— all but Oblivion,—
