这章超玄，感觉在读Trainspotting， 画面感很强，又是电影很难拍出来那种画面。After all those miles of bleak hardpan, the softness of the darkness seems nearly decadent.His mind was becoming a jungle full of strange thought-plants that he had never seen or susended over it. The thought gave him a vertigo that seemed faraway and unimportant. A lined of old poetry occurred to him, ... reminding him (in an unconnected way that was typical of the mescaline rush) of snow falling in a globe he had owned as a child, mustic and half fantastical."Jasmine, rose, honeysuckle. Dry hay with its ghost of summer clover. Oil decanted from ancient urns. A riot for flesh."To stay now meant attenuation; perhaps her own kind of death.Worlds rose and fell before him. Empires were built across shining sands where forever machines toiled in abstract electronic frenzies. Empires declined, fell, rose again. Wheels tath had spun like silent liquid moved more slowly, began to squeak, began to scream, stopped. Sand choked the stainless steel gutters of concentric streets below dark skies full of stars like beds of cold jewels. And through it all, a dying wind of change blew, bringing with it the cinnamon snell of late October. The gunslinger wtched as teh world moved on.
整本书都从这个paragraph开始展开的感觉，rose and tower and wheel and ka. #如何在纸上建立sci fi帝国
No one ever really pays for betrayal in silver. The price of any betrayal always comes due in flesh.