Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/27

Rh And drunk as he was, it made him a little ill. Like smelling sulphur. Like tasting cold fried mush.

And yet, in retrospect, there was a moment, a long, hesitating moment when he remembered nothing.

This moment was then, and now was now.

Only now it was black as only black can be and a shadow fell into the blackness, a shadow vague, yet like Mr. Lowell, a very silent, a very far away shadow, so negative, so delicately negative that, in the morning, Ken did not know whether he had had a very beautiful dream.