“ He was only faintly visible in the dark, at a window on the haunted floor of the house, almost a fixture in the room from some previous era, there for some outdated domestic purpose. It was the one part of the house no one would come near, dedicated to exile, departure, unquiet journeying, reserved for any who could not reside there. He was remembering, declining into a sickbed of remembrance.
Thomas Pynchon
