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Updated: May 5, 2025
That huge noisome mass of pulp which once had been human shoulders no longer expanded. I shoved Glora away. "Don't look!" I was shaking; my head was reeling. Alan's face, painted by the phosphorescence, was ghastly. Glora pulled at us. "This way! The tunnel is not too long. We go." But the giant had drugs, and perhaps weapons. "Wait!" I urged. "You two wait here. I'll climb over him."
A tiny warm hand touched my ear lobe; clung to it. A tiny voice sounded in my ear. "Please do not move your head. You might kill me!" There was a pause. I held myself rigid. Then the tiny voice came again. "I am Glora, a friend. I have the drug! I will help you!" It seemed that Alan was stirring. I felt the tiny hand leave my ear.
I moved incautiously and knocked them over. They seemed small now, perhaps half their former size. Glora was standing behind them. I was sitting and she was standing, but across the litter our faces were level. "Stand up!" she murmured. "You all right now. I hide!" I struggled to my feet, drawing Alan up with me. Now! The time for action was upon us! We had already been discovered.
It was covered with a scrawled handwriting in pencil, but its giant characters seemed thick blurred strokes of charcoal. We could not read it; we were too close. Alan and Glora held it up against the tunnel wall. From a distance I could make it out. It was a note written in English, signed "Polter," evidently to one of his men. It read: The two prisoners, kill them at once. That is better.
It will be too dangerous to wait for my return. Put their bodies with their airplane. Crash it a mile from my gate. Full directions for our death followed. And Polter said he would return by dawn or soon after. That gave me a start. By dawn! We had been traveling four or five hours. It was already dawn up there now! "No," Glora explained, "the time in here is different. A different time-rate.
No longer did it strike terror into the hearts of the children of Lir, rather as a note of peace did it sink into their souls. Then, when the last chime died, Finola said, 'Let us sing to the great King of Heaven and Earth. Far stole the sweet strains of the white swans, far across Inis Glora, until they reached the good Saint Kemoc, for whose early prayers the Christ-bell had chimed.
Already he was twenty feet tall compared to us a thick-set fellow, dressed in leather garments, his legs and arms heavily matted with black hair. He stood swaying, gazing around him. I stared up at his round bullet head, his villainous face. He saw us! Stupid amazement struck him, then comprehension. He let out a roar and came at us! Glora shouted, "Into the tunnel! This way!"
This is my world, doomed perhaps, but I cannot forsake it now. I must give the enlarging drug to my father. And others who can rise and fight these monsters." "Glora!" Dr. Kent said hurriedly, "She's right, Alan. There is a chance they can save their city. For her to leave them would be dastardly." She cried, "You go on up, Alan. You have enough of the drugs. I am going back!" "No," he protested.
I recall it struck me that Alan would want to do it also. And, perhaps, even Glora. But that wouldn't work. My chances, however desperate, were better alone. Glora and Alan in our present size could doubtless disembark safely. Glora knew the layout of the island. And she could follow Polter.
Of all the strange events that had been flung at us, I think this sudden crisis now most confused Alan and me.... To get larger, or smaller? Which? Yet something had to be done at once. Glora said, "We can get through the woods best in this size. We won't be seen and will be closer to the landing." We crouched so that the treetops were always well over us. The patch of woods was dark.
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