“Is it dead?” he said to himself. “Well, even if it is , I’ve still got some sensations left!” When he thought in this way about his “mythology,” it was queer how he always endowed it with a visible shape. He thought of it as “it,” and this “it” was always compelled to take the shape of large, succulent leaves, the leaves of a water-plant whose roots were hidden beneath fathoms of greenish-coloured water.

“ Some sensations left, even if it is dead!” And he rose heavily to his feet and moved on.