There was something else bothering him, too. Something intangible, amorphous, half-sensed or half-glimpsed, something that he couldn’t really remember but which nagged at him, leaving him restless, tossing and turning in bed at night. It was as frustrating as if he’d forgotten his own name. He was stirring the dregs of his coffee, staring mournfully at the cold liquid, when it came back to him.