The blessed-blue sky, the tiny baby suns in each badge, faces unclouded by the folly of thought . . . All these were rays, you see— all made of some sort of unified, radiant, smiling matter. And a brass beat: Tra-ta-ta-tam, Tra-ta-ta-tam—like sun-sparkling brass stairs—and with each step up, you climb higher and higher into the head-spinning blueness . . .
