IN THE MORNING LIGHT, THOSE WORDS NO LONGER GAVE ME pause. They meant nothing to me, for I knew them to be the words of a madman. That I was that madman meant nothing either. I was at repose with myself, as the old ghost might say.

And besides, it was true. I was very soon to die. As are we all.

What did give me pause was that, looking back on all those crossed-out adjectives, similes, and such with which I had tried to capture in words the taste of my fair maidens’ blood, I now, in the calm, quiet morning, found myself trying to recall and summon that taste with all the power of my physical senses.

And more than just the taste, but the feeling it brought with it, too.

But try as I might, I could not. I entertained the notion of renewing and refreshing my memory.

No. Nature may love to hide beneath vague indications and dark hints. But I must not further hide the hidden. I must allow my own nature no longer to cast or to hide or abide in vague indications or dark hints. I must not betray myself.