Kindle Notes & Highlights
(Have the dead suddenly begun to dream? a page in one of the diaries asks. Or have they been dreaming all along? And is it possible to become ensnared in such a dream like a gull in a fisherman’s net?)
“Most houses gather dust,” the aging Viscount d’Archambault told a handsome young soldier of the Confederacy, as the two of them sat together on the rose-colored divan in Swaingrove’s grand parlor. “My house, dear boy, gathers desires.”
Dragons are made of sleep, Arthur thinks. For they themselves are dreams.
