"There was a moon, low in the sky and worn, thumbed partly away like
an old coin, and he went on. Above banana and palm the cathedral spires
soared without perspective on the hot sky. Looking through the tall
pickets into Jackson square was like looking into an aquarium---a moist
and motionless absinthe-cloudy green of all shades from ink black to a
thin and rigid feathering of silver on pomegranate and mimosa---like
coral in a tideless sea, amid which globular
lights hung dull and unstraying as jellyfish, incandescent yet without
seeming to emanate light; and in the center of it Andrew's baroque
plunging stasis nimbused about with thin gleams as though he too were
recently wetted."
William Faulkner, Mosquitoes.
