“He, who was made of unsuitable things bound together by some force of will, of unimaginable power, hung suspended in the magnetic field of its ceaseless movement like an apparition. Disintegrated, blown by the wind into the autumn haze, he drifted quietly into the forest, the dark forest of his youth.”
Believe it or not, this beautiful passage is a cull from Another End of the World. It just didn’t fit the scene. Like Steven King says, to be a writer, sometimes you have to kill your babies.