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You shake your head, realize what he can no more: the word "Euphemia" was his last hoard.
Moved now by pity to keep your end of bargains he no longer knows he made, for alms you--generous, rich, young and stupid--give to him memories of dandelions.
That lets you store memories in them, effectively "indexing" them by association.
Eventually, full of memories not your own, you perhaps forget yourself a little, or worse, remember yourself only as your darkest deeds: all you have left.
This is nanotech inspired by fantasy, and well might be considered still in that realm. Banks, in another book, has an entire assassin just drifting in past planetary defences one mote at a time, then assembling itself into swift and dusty vengeance.) Today I celebrated my cat Gypsy's birthday.
I don't know the actual day, but he was estimated to be 3 months old when I adopted him in mid-July 1990.
One of the most definitive works of scholarship on the memory palace tradition is "The Art of Memory" by Frances Yates (which I happen to be reading piecemeal right now).
Leah Miller @ 5 -- you might also consider the Tom Binh-like company "Red Oxx" (redoxx.com).
The name 'Euphemia' reminds me irresistibly of Euphemia Williams a politician* from Westmoreland, Jamaica.