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Updated: June 8, 2025
Another day-dream. Forget. Beyond Tesla's soft voice ... an opening and shutting of mouths swollen in delicious discomforts. Look at them. Identify mouths. Tell himself the angles they made. People ... people ... a wriggling of bodies in a growing satiety of tepid lusts. "True art, Dorn, is something beyond decoration. Dreams made real. But the right kind of dreams things that touch people.
Tesla was replying, not so fawningly, the bay beneath his soft words mastering his sycophantic tones. Let him talk. He had something to talk about. He saw something. There was a new tableau in Tesla's brain. Let him keep murmuring things about it suavely, unctuously letting off steam. Like a man returning drearily to his game of solitaire, Dorn fastened his eyes again upon the scene.
He read with amusement the rabid denunciations of the radicals in the press of the day. The grotesque hate hymns against the new Russia, the garbled shriekings and pompous anathemas that fell hourly upon the heads of all suspects, inspired no argument in him. Tesla's days were busy with organization. He had almost ceased his activities as pamphleteer, although still editor of The Cry.
Although Baily, Deprez, and Ferraris had accomplished much before Tesla's time, yet it was practically to the investigations and discoveries made by Tesla, between 1887 and 1891, that the induction motor of to-day is due.
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