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Updated: June 25, 2025
He heard his parting remarks in deep abstraction, and only after the lapse of several minutes, when, alone with Nightspore, did he realise that they referred to such mundane matters as travelling routes and times of trains. "Does Krag travel north with us, Nightspore? I didn't catch that." "No. We go on first, and he joins us at Starkness on the evening of the day after tomorrow."
Its fire had been abstracted, its cement was withdrawn, and, after being fouled and softened by the horrible sweetness of the host, it broke into individuals, which were the whirls of living will. Nightspore shuddered. He comprehended at last how the whole world of will was doomed to eternal anguish in order that one Being might feel joy.
"At least tell us their names, you provoking girl," put in Mrs. Jameson. "One rejoices in the name of Maskull, and the other in that of Nightspore. That's nearly all that I know about them, so don't overwhelm me with, any more questions." "But where did you pick them up? You must have picked them up somewhere." "But this is a cross-examination. Have I sinned again convention?
He said he had heard nothing. In obedience to his master's order, he went upstairs. Nothing, however, was amiss there, neither had the maids heard anything. In the meantime Backhouse, who almost alone of those assembled had preserved his sangfroid, went straight up to Nightspore, who stood gnawing his nails. "Perhaps you can explain it, sir?"
"Still, a cut with a pocket-knife " began Maskull, laughing. "It will answer, Maskull," interrupted Nightspore. "Then bare your arm too, you aristocrat of the universe," said Krag. "Let us see what your blood is made of." Nightspore obeyed. Krag pulled out the big blade of the knife, and made a careless and almost savage slash at Maskull's upper arm. The wound was deep, and blood flowed freely.
We can't squander the minutes. There are terrible and tragic affairs to attend to, which won't wait for us... Go in at once. Stop for nothing." "Where shall I go to?" muttered Nightspore. "I have forgotten everything." "Enter, enter! There is only one way. You can't mistake it." "Why do you bid me go in, if I am to come out again?" "To have your wounds healed."
"What I said about the windows also applies to Surtur. There's no need to waste time over visualising him, because you are immediately going on to the reality." "Then let us go." He pressed his eyeballs wearily. "Do we strip?" asked Nightspore. "Naturally," answered Krag, and he began to tear off his clothes with slow, uncouth movements.
"It is Tormantic gravity," muttered Nightspore. "I understand you or, rather, I don't but it doesn't matter." He went on smoking in silence, occasionally taking a mouthful of the neat liquor. "Who is Surtur?" he demanded abruptly. "We others are gropers and bunglers, but he is a master." Maskull digested this.
Nightspore spent little time at that window, for he felt that he was on the eve of a great discovery, and that something far more important awaited him higher up. He proceeded aloft. The ascent grew more and more exhausting, so much so that he had frequently to sit down, utterly crushed by his own dead weight. Still, he got to the third window. He climbed into the embrasure.
"And what about Nightspore?" Krag jumped to his feet with clumsy agility. "We won't wait for him. He'll be there as soon as we shall." "Where?" "At our destination.... Come! The sun's rising." As they started clambering down the pass side by side, Branchspell, huge and white, leaped fiercely into the sky. All the delicacy of the dawn vanished, and another vulgar day began.
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