The mind is like a pool of water, and rain falls as you age. The water gets deeper, and looks so still: occasionally some stray thought or impulse betrays its depths, but seldom. But deep down underneath, right at the bottom, there may be something lying on the bottom. Something that died a long time ago, something rotted and foul that belies the pool's still surface. Alkland had just seen a bubble rise from the bottom, had smelt the stench of decay: and when that happens, you don't want other people to come too close, in case they smell it too.
( Michael Marshall Smith )
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