“What about the flies these times?” He smiled on me in quite a superior sort of way⁠—such a smile as would have become the face of Malvolio⁠—as he answered me:⁠—

“The fly, my dear sir, has one striking feature; its wings are typical of the aerial powers of the psychic faculties. The ancients did well when they typified the soul as a butterfly!”

I thought I would push his analogy to its utmost logically, so I said quickly:⁠—

“Oh, it is a soul you are after now, is it?” His madness foiled his reason, and a puzzled look spread over his face as, shaking his head with a decision which I had but seldom seen in him, he said:⁠—