“Something is the matter today,” I began hesitatingly, “it can’t only be that bit of a storm.”
He looked at me penetratingly.
“Have you seen anything?”
“Yes. I saw a picture clearly in the clouds, for an instant.”
“What sort of a picture?”
“It was a bird.”
“The hawk? Was it that? The bird of your dream?”
“Yes, it was my hawk. It was yellow and of giant size, it flew up into the blue-black heaven.”
Demian took a deep breath. Someone knocked at the door. The aged servant brought in tea.
“Take a cup, Sinclair, do. I don’t think it was by chance you saw the bird.”
“Chance? Does one see such things