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Then for a flash Cavor opened a window moonward, and we saw that we were dropping towards a huge central crater with a number of minor craters grouped in a sort of cross about it. And then again Cavor flung our little sphere open to the scorching, blinding sun. I think he was using the sun's attraction as a brake.
And having puzzled out what I considered to be the thing to do, I opened all my moonward windows, and squatted down the effort lifted me for a time some feet or so into the air, and I hung there in the oddest way and waited for the crescent to get bigger and bigger until I felt I was near enough for safety.
Here, groping in the grotesque glow of their own lanterns might well come the gnomes of German tales although, so sweetly gentle is the light, I can think of them only as kindly goblins bent on quaint deeds of goodness. Beyond the pines the path led me moonward through glades among deciduous trees, no doubt the abodes of elves.
Then I would shut the windows, fly past the moon with the velocity I had got from it if I did not smash upon it and so go on towards the earth. And that is what I did. At last I felt my moonward start was sufficient.
Like his protagonist Arthur Rimbaud surely the most extraordinary poetic apparition of the nineteenth century Jules Laforgue accomplished his destiny during the period when most poets are moulding their wings preparatory to flight. He flew in youth, flew moonward, for his patron goddess was Selene, he her faithful worshipper, a true lunalogue.
At night, on the moonward side, the earth was studded with brilliant spikes, all pointed at the heart of its child in the sky. But the looting of the moon brought disaster to the robber planet.
We need only say, that he sat at his window, gazing moonward wrote sonnets in a very melancholy strain, and lost much of his ardor and vivacity. These symptoms are sufficient for a diagnosis when one is familiar with the disease, and they were exhibited by Mr. Ralph, on the occasion mentioned. But we anticipate.
Perhaps he cribbed some hint, too, from the excited girlish tongue of the demonstration so soon to take place upon Mount Greylock, when the invention would be tried out; and lastly of the thrilling invitation to the White Birch Group to be present not then but on that Great Day, far ahead, when the real Thunder Bird, full-fledged with magic, red-eyed, fiery-tailed, would embark on its hundred-hour flight moonward, as Pem was sure it would start, no matter where the gold-mine to equip it came from.
To Pem little visionary plunged from her dreams of pressing the magic button on a mountain-top, of watching the Thunder Bird tear, tear away moonward, switching its long tail of light, the whole thing seemed an illusion the wrong side of her dream.
He stumbled, fell, crawled up again, but he kept on. Above, the female coyote lowered her head, drew a test sniff of a new scent. She recognized that as part of the proper way of life. She yapped once at her mate, but he was absorbed in his night song, his muzzle pointed moonward as he voiced a fine wailing.
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