/lit/ - Literature

>>20872213
>In the uncertain hour before the morning, near the ending of interminable night, at the recurrent end of the unending, after the dark dove with the flickering tongue had passed below the horizon of his homing while the dead leaves still rattled on like tin over the asphalt where no other sound was, between three districts whence the smoke arose, I met one walking, loitering and hurried as if blown towards me like the metal leaves before the urban dawn wind unresisting. And as I fixed upon the down-turned face that pointed scrutiny with which we challenge the first-met stranger in the waning dusk, I caught the sudden look of some dead master whom I had known, forgotten, half recalled, both one and many; in the brown baked features, the eyes of a familiar compound ghost, both intimate and unidentifiable.