I shall from time to time write a small Clue — so that you may be the more thoroughly confounded.
And where may hide what came and loved our clay? as the Poet asked finely.
Page 223; the poet being Robert Browning in Epilogue in his collection of poems Dramatis Personae.
There are things that happen and leave no discernible trace, are not spoken of or written of, though it would be wrong to say that subsequent events go on indifferently, all the same, as though such things had never been.