The Obscene Bird of Night - pg. 18

All of them are velvety to the touch, homogeneous, motionless under the soft dust that covers everything with the silky, delicate fuzz that the slightest movement, like the flicker of an eye or someone's breathing, could scatter through the room, choking and blinding us and causing all those creatures that are resting quietly in the momentarily gentle shapes of small bundles of rags, sheves of old magazines, umbrella ribs, boxes, box tops, pieces of box tops, to spring to life and pounce on us.