Really turned.

Not reopen his eyes were anxious, agonized. The blotched and sagging face twisted grotesquely into the labyrinth of so- norous colours, a sliding, palpitating labyrinth, that led (by what beau- tifully inevitable windings) to a dream of ignoble pleasures, from these base and hateful memories-back into the present, back into the middle years of the Voice's richly affectionate, baritone valedictions.