Here also are the innumerable roadside shrines erected unto forgotten and well remembered gods alike, of the deep, lower pathways.

Their stony conclaves ever thirsty for a little blood, a scantle of meat or brass, or the longing whisper of a passing traveller. 

Ponderous apertures thrown open. 

Orifices inviting or threatening in the perpetual dimness.

Like mouths of stone, yawning. 

Like mouths neglected, mournful and mossy with uneasy darkness. 

Like mouths, bright with the guttering tallow-gleam of slanting tapers.