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Tycho, v. 1, issue 2, November 1942
Page 7
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DONN BRAZIER The moon played hop-scotch on the gurgling brook while the willows watched, nodding and whispering. Night-flying moths tinted the liquid silver with spots of sheeny color. They listened to the bubbling of the brook, the elfin swish of the whirring moth wings, and the rustling of the willows. She was frightened, her dark eyes large. He was tall and strong. He drew her tightly into his arms for the first time. They waited... Nine miles away, Digby, his wife and seven children huddled in the cold potato hole. A candle burned, using up some of the precious oxegyn. Charles, the little one, was crying for water; Mary, his older sister, was crying with fear. The others waited. Then the mustiness of the underground hole gave way to the delicate scent of violets. Mrs Digby hugged Charles closer and slowly the candle flickered and went out. The cabin, with its makeshift laboratory, was behind then. Dr Bruce sat at his desk, head bowed, hope gone. The hypodermic lay on his desk near his hand, empty. He had not moved since Tom and Carol had walked out into the night toward the brook. There was no use moving, anyhow. No use for anything. "Carol," Tom whispered - "I've been too busy to tell you before, but Carol - I love you." They both surrendered in a kiss which was as suddenly broken. They both quivered. The lights in the cabin up on the hill went out. The fragrance of violets filled the air. The spots of shifting color that were whirring moths dipped and splashed into the brook. The moon stared down coldly, and the willows drowned their heads in the brook. The candle had gone out forever. Tom Graham stepped into the cabin. "This is my secretary and general assistant, Carol Saunders, Mr Graham," Dr Bruce introduced hurriedly. "Now we have lots to do." [colored text] EVEN AS A CANDLE The laboratory was situated in Northern Minnesota where the queer and monstrous animals resulting from Bruce's experiments could be conveniently disposed of. While the rest of the world battled furiously and without success against a plague that swept over the Earth, the plague whose only warning was the delicate fragrance of spring violets, Dr Bruce and his new assistant, Tom Graham, worked on the problem which would save mankind from total extinction. It was a serious matter, for the Viol Death, as the newspapers called it while there were still people to print and write and read, spared no one. Young and Old, poor and rich, white or black or yellow -- all succumbed to the odor of violets which heralded the mysterious lethal agent for which one could devise an antidote or prevention. What was it? Chemists labored without success; doctors performed countless autopsies; physicists looked for new vibrations and found none; bacteriologists discovered nothing. And [whiol?] science slaved, the Violet Death spread from its
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DONN BRAZIER The moon played hop-scotch on the gurgling brook while the willows watched, nodding and whispering. Night-flying moths tinted the liquid silver with spots of sheeny color. They listened to the bubbling of the brook, the elfin swish of the whirring moth wings, and the rustling of the willows. She was frightened, her dark eyes large. He was tall and strong. He drew her tightly into his arms for the first time. They waited... Nine miles away, Digby, his wife and seven children huddled in the cold potato hole. A candle burned, using up some of the precious oxegyn. Charles, the little one, was crying for water; Mary, his older sister, was crying with fear. The others waited. Then the mustiness of the underground hole gave way to the delicate scent of violets. Mrs Digby hugged Charles closer and slowly the candle flickered and went out. The cabin, with its makeshift laboratory, was behind then. Dr Bruce sat at his desk, head bowed, hope gone. The hypodermic lay on his desk near his hand, empty. He had not moved since Tom and Carol had walked out into the night toward the brook. There was no use moving, anyhow. No use for anything. "Carol," Tom whispered - "I've been too busy to tell you before, but Carol - I love you." They both surrendered in a kiss which was as suddenly broken. They both quivered. The lights in the cabin up on the hill went out. The fragrance of violets filled the air. The spots of shifting color that were whirring moths dipped and splashed into the brook. The moon stared down coldly, and the willows drowned their heads in the brook. The candle had gone out forever. Tom Graham stepped into the cabin. "This is my secretary and general assistant, Carol Saunders, Mr Graham," Dr Bruce introduced hurriedly. "Now we have lots to do." [colored text] EVEN AS A CANDLE The laboratory was situated in Northern Minnesota where the queer and monstrous animals resulting from Bruce's experiments could be conveniently disposed of. While the rest of the world battled furiously and without success against a plague that swept over the Earth, the plague whose only warning was the delicate fragrance of spring violets, Dr Bruce and his new assistant, Tom Graham, worked on the problem which would save mankind from total extinction. It was a serious matter, for the Viol Death, as the newspapers called it while there were still people to print and write and read, spared no one. Young and Old, poor and rich, white or black or yellow -- all succumbed to the odor of violets which heralded the mysterious lethal agent for which one could devise an antidote or prevention. What was it? Chemists labored without success; doctors performed countless autopsies; physicists looked for new vibrations and found none; bacteriologists discovered nothing. And [whiol?] science slaved, the Violet Death spread from its
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