“He had the oddest feeling of disappearing as he spoke, of fading into the background of a painting depicting a story which must have been old as history. And perhaps it was the drink, but he was fascinated by the way he seemed to drift outside himself, to watch from the awning as her hiccupping sobs and his murmurs mingled, floated, and became puffs of condensation against the cold stained-glass windows.”
―
R.F. Kuang,
Babel