He remembered fragments, for the most part trivial moments, things of no great importance that he had observed.

His boyhood seemed the most accessible at first, he recalled school books and certain lessons in mensuration.

Then he revived the more salient features of his life, memories of the wife long since dead, her magic influence now gone beyond corruption, of his rivals and friends and betrayers, of the decision of this issue and that, and then of his last years of misery, of fluctuating resolves, and at last of his strenuous studies.

In a little while he perceived he had it all again; dim perhaps, like metal long laid aside, but in no way defective or injured, capable of re-polishing.

And the hue of it was a deepening misery.