LIKE A VAST mill, grind, grind, grinding away inside the bowl of the world, turns the wheel of time. Its toothed blades grind out the oceans and the paths of rivers, as they grind down the stars and planets, and cut the leaves from the trees when their hour is come. Nothing is spared their ceaseless churning, as the fourth dimension grinds away at the other three. So many aeons has the mill of time been turning that the teeth of its outer blades are quite faded with age.