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Fan, issue 2, July 1945
Page 17
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17 "You do not believe," he stated in a tense, altered voice. "You have been studying me, pitying me, diagnosing my case. Well, it does not matter now. This thing, this mad spell and desire that is upon me, will be ended soon." It was then . . . it was something in his strangely altered voice that made me realize Phillip Maxton was afraid, vaguely afraid. But of what? Not even he knew. Something subtly menacing, half felt and half guessed. Something yet to come. I did not watch him closely. I should have. I should never have allowed him to stare into that fire again; I shall never forgive myself for that. My thoughts were far away. This was utterly out of my experience. Sounds from a mythical dimension transmitted by storm, half-seen visions from that dimension transmitted by fire! I WAS brought back to reality by a sound. Perhaps one of the logs in the fireplace had snapped. Phillip Maxton stood before the fire and stared into it with such intensity that I was frightened with the though that he might make good his wild statement and leap into the flames. He stood there tense, staring, as though trying to pierce the veil of flames before him. A cold dread touched my spine. I was seized with a horror that I too might see what Maxton was striving to see, or did see. But I couldn't understand why I should feel horror There came a searing shock and a crash of thunder like an avalanche loosed. Th house trembled in mimic of my own fear. A haze seemed to mist the room and I saw the flame in the fireplace leap once. "The violin! I hear it again. The music is drawing to a close. This . . . yes, this will be the last time! Adn I see . . . I see her. Closer than ever before. I must go, I must go at once. That melody . . . " To this day I am not sure whether Maxton's voice dwindled off there, or whether his words went on, causing me to see. . . What I seemed to see behind the flame was a vast, vague vista of another world where grass of a particularly lurid hue leaped waist-high. And through that grass there stepped very delicately a maiden. I could not see her face. She held a sort of stringed instrument like a violin, upon which she played with a sweeping, concentrated effort. She was shapely, very shapely and desirable. But I am not sure whether it was the sight of her or the sound of the music that caused the desire in me.
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17 "You do not believe," he stated in a tense, altered voice. "You have been studying me, pitying me, diagnosing my case. Well, it does not matter now. This thing, this mad spell and desire that is upon me, will be ended soon." It was then . . . it was something in his strangely altered voice that made me realize Phillip Maxton was afraid, vaguely afraid. But of what? Not even he knew. Something subtly menacing, half felt and half guessed. Something yet to come. I did not watch him closely. I should have. I should never have allowed him to stare into that fire again; I shall never forgive myself for that. My thoughts were far away. This was utterly out of my experience. Sounds from a mythical dimension transmitted by storm, half-seen visions from that dimension transmitted by fire! I WAS brought back to reality by a sound. Perhaps one of the logs in the fireplace had snapped. Phillip Maxton stood before the fire and stared into it with such intensity that I was frightened with the though that he might make good his wild statement and leap into the flames. He stood there tense, staring, as though trying to pierce the veil of flames before him. A cold dread touched my spine. I was seized with a horror that I too might see what Maxton was striving to see, or did see. But I couldn't understand why I should feel horror There came a searing shock and a crash of thunder like an avalanche loosed. Th house trembled in mimic of my own fear. A haze seemed to mist the room and I saw the flame in the fireplace leap once. "The violin! I hear it again. The music is drawing to a close. This . . . yes, this will be the last time! Adn I see . . . I see her. Closer than ever before. I must go, I must go at once. That melody . . . " To this day I am not sure whether Maxton's voice dwindled off there, or whether his words went on, causing me to see. . . What I seemed to see behind the flame was a vast, vague vista of another world where grass of a particularly lurid hue leaped waist-high. And through that grass there stepped very delicately a maiden. I could not see her face. She held a sort of stringed instrument like a violin, upon which she played with a sweeping, concentrated effort. She was shapely, very shapely and desirable. But I am not sure whether it was the sight of her or the sound of the music that caused the desire in me.
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