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Updated: June 9, 2025
But as it might happen that M. Hardy would not have the courage or the desire to read this book, thoughts and reflections borrowed from its merciless pages, and written in very large characters, were suspended in black frames close to the bed, or at other parts within sight, so that, involuntarily, in the sad leisure of his inactive dejection, the dweller's eyes were almost necessarily attracted by them.
But it was not barrier against the poison of the Medusae, for, our sad task done, and looking down upon the waters, I saw the pale forms of the Dweller's hordes dissolving, vanishing into the shifting glories of the gigantic moons sailing down upon them from every quarter of the Sea of Crimson.
So this was the explanation of the entwined emotions of joy and terror that had changed so appallingly Throckmartin's face and the faces of all the Dweller's slaves! The handmaiden's eyes grew bright, alert, again; the brooding passed from her face; the golden voice that had been so deep found its own familiar pitch. "I listened while the Three spoke to you," she said.
"I wish I had something to defend myself with," he added after a pause. Tad had no sooner expressed his wish, than his fingers closed over some object on the ground. He grasped it with about the same hopefulness that a dying man will grasp at a straw. What he had found was a heavy tent stake, one that Kris Kringle had dropped from his bundle on the way to the cliff dweller's home.
There had been a great subsidence, an earth shock, perhaps, tilting downward all that side the echo, little doubt, of that cataclysm which had blasted the Dweller's lair! The little squared islet called Tau, in which were hidden the seven globes, had entirely disappeared. Upon the waters there was no trace of it.
Beyond the gate, back from the portals, stretched a flight of enormous basalt slabs, a giant's stairway indeed; and from each side of it marched the high walls that were the Dweller's pathway. None of us spoke as we grounded the boat and dragged it upon a half-submerged pier. And when we did speak it was in whispers. "What next?" asked Larry.
I felt Lakla's touch; turned. A hundred paces away was a dais, its rim raised a yard above the floor. From the edge of this rim streamed upward a steady, coruscating mist of the opalescence, veined even as was that of the Dweller's shining core and shot with milky shadows like curdled moonlight; up it stretched like a wall.
"No, it is a businesslike age," answered Mrs. Galland. "I you mean I was too detached? I was not human?" "You are now. You make me very happy," her mother replied. "But you must sleep," she insisted. After a time, her ear becoming as accustomed to the firing as a city dweller's to the distant roar of city traffic Mrs. Galland slept. But Marta could not follow her advice.
We heard the clang of the golden wings of the portal, and none too soon to keep out the first of the Dweller's dreadful hordes.
Now I found speech to voice the question ever with me, the thing that lay as close to my heart as did the welfare of Larry, indeed the whole object of my quest the fate of Throckmartin and those who had passed with him into the Dweller's lair; yes, and of Olaf's wife, too. "Lakla," I said, "the friend who drew me here and those he loved who went before him can we not save them?"
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