In order to explain that he had not in fact been executed for
espionage, he again hurried to my window, where, as always, the
faint odor of seaside that continually hung about him infuriated
the Siamese cat lolling in its corner on the rooftop.
In order to explain that he had not in fact been the victim of
a conspiracy, it was all he could do to convey to me, by physical
conduction, the fickle temperature changes of the ocean currents,
disturbing my sleep with hot and cold flashes. Sadly, he
had lost the power of human speech.
In order to explain how he had been dragged down by the
swirling eddies and entangling seaweed, he allowed the shadow
of his unfettered soul to become caught up in fold after fold of
the window curtain, but, before terror had awakened me, he had,
by slow degrees, already sunk into the deep dark sky.