With every day something here in this new and preposterous world struck his attention, and with every fresh lure was he drawn more certainly from his old consciousness.

At first he had simply rebelled; then, very slowly, his curiosity had begun to stir.

It had stirred at first through food and touch; very pleasant this, very pleasant that.
Milk, sleep, light things that he could hold very tightly with his hands.

Now, upon this March afternoon, he watched the pink clouds with a more intent gaze than he had given to them before.

Their colour and shape bore some reference to the life that he had left.