understanding that pores are small, and do not squirt visible jets.
What I could say is that I saw little trickles uniting to form
brooks, and brooks to form rivers, which ran down the sides of the
flesh-mountain, and mingled in an ocean on the floor.

Also I observed that flesh-mountains when exposed to heat do not
stand up of their own consistency, but have a tendency to melt and
flatten; it was necessary that this bulk should be supported, so
there were three attendants, one securely braced under each armpit,
and the third with a more precarious grip under the mountain's chin.
Every thirty seconds or so the heaving, sliding mass would emit one
of those explosive groans: "O-o-o-o-o-oh!" Then it would collapse,
an avalanche would threaten to slide, and the living caryatids would
shove and struggle.

Said Madame Planchet, in her stage-whisper: "The serveece of the
young god of beautee!" And my fancy took flight. I saw proud vestals
tending sacred flames on temple-clad islands in blue Grecian seas; I
saw acolytes waving censers, and grave, bearded priests walking in
processions crowned with myrtle-wreaths. I wondered if ever since
the world began, the young god of beautee looking down from his
crystal throne had beheld a stranger ritual of adoration!

Silently we drew back from the door-way, and Madame closed the door,
reducing the promethean groans and the strong ammoniacal odors. I
did not see the face of Carpenter, because he had turned it from us.
Rosythe favored me with a smile, and whispered, "Your friend doesn't
care for beautee!" Then he added, "What do you suppose he meant by
that stuff about 'the price of life' and 'the choice of God?'"