"Illusions?" Foster repeats; he's already forgotten about the other topic. Illusions. Seen, but not real. He knows this one.

"Illusions?" he says again. He's got brain damage, that's gonna happen. But he's rolling ahead now, hasty as he catches the coattails of the thought, the knowledge that almost escaped him, that's already escaping, so he has to say it, quick, before the memory is lost again--

"Green--green magic. Like a glamour."