" It was a brush with another world; a thing that could perhaps only happen here. Many other worlds, for different visitors-- but for all of us--my friends and I-- it was the same. A world a few years earlier than ours, where Louis-Philippe had only just completed his theft-- and where every soul was visible, embodied and free,in some sort of animal or bird. We were all birds, though I think--then I knew-- that it was not always so. And it was something, to feel yourself free, for everyone to show themselves so, to see and feel the world apart--the soul free from its cage, and still in consort--ah! Ask Jehan, Prouvaire, you've met him; he could say it better. It needs a poet."

Another little trill at the lark. " And so I thought this one might be yours--though I would hope in that world you would have found this place another way."