It was butterflies this time.

He saw that an increasing pressure was upon Michael's mind, and he feared for his brain.

He was too weak to read.

He might perhaps like to look at pictures.
The doctor opened the book at an attractive illustration of an immense butterfly, with wings of iridescent blue and green.

He could not stay, but he left the cherished volume open on Michael's knee.
Michael turned his maimed mind slowly from the abyss into which it had been looking ever since he had seen that sprig of sea lavender.
Yes.