The more I spoke with Miss Ewans, the more our conversations became puzzling. There is little need to relate the extensive details of such conversations as they were almost always framed around walking and moths but, with unnerving regularity, I was plagued by a constant sense of déjà vu. (…)

I no longer wanted to be confused about who I was. I wanted to be Thomas, and for her to definitely be Phyllis Ewans. The line between us was far from the solid divide that I had hoped coming here would confirm. It actually seemed that it would become worse, the moths fluttering more and more as my hope of returning to work, to the study of Lepidoptera, diminished into the air thick with scales. My main fear was of becoming Miss Ewans, disappearing entirely into her memories with my own falling away.

Adam Scovell: Mothlight, London: Influx Press 2019, p.c. 34, 83.