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| HP Lovecraft |
I choked in nausea, and for a second scarcely saw the dwarfed, humped figure on the steps. The summons had been Edward's, but what was this foul, stunted parody?
Formless protoplasm able to mock and reflect all forms and organs and processes--viscous agglutinations of bubbling cells--rubbery, fifteen-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile--slaves of suggestion--builders of cities--more and more sullen, more and more intelligent, more and more amphibious, more and more imitative--Great God! ----H.P. Lovecraft, At The Mountains of Madness
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