There was ten thousand verses to that book of poem, partitioned off into various an' sundry parts so the read thereof could sit up an' draw breath about every thousand verses, an' get his full wind ready for the run through the next slice.
"That 'Wage of Sin' book was surely for to admire, any way you looked at it.

Take the subject; it wasn't any of your little, sawed-off, one-year sprints.

No siree! W.P.Mills started away back in the front vestibule of time.

He said, right in the preface--an' that was all poetry, too-- Now, reader, go along with me Away back to eternity, A hundred thousand years, and still Keep backing backwards if you will.
"An' when he got away back there he sort of expectorated on his hands an' started in at Genesis, Chapter One, Verse One, an' went right along down through the Bible like a cross-cut saw through a cottonwood log.

He never missed a single event that was important, if true.