He felt he was passing up again through
the thin crust of horror, and now only could he distinguish the shadowy
twilight he was leaving. He must have fallen asleep again, for when he
next recollected himself he had paid the hotel bill and was stepping
into a taxi at the door. It was raining torrents.

On the train for Princeton he saw no one he knew, only a crowd of
fagged-looking Philadelphians. The presence of a painted woman across
the aisle filled him with a fresh burst of sickness and he changed to
another car, tried to concentrate on an article in a popular magazine.
He found himself reading the same paragraphs over and over, so he
abandoned this attempt and leaning over wearily pressed his hot forehead
against the damp window-pane. The car, a smoker, was hot and stuffy with
most of the smells of the state's alien population; he opened a window
and shivered against the cloud of fog that drifted in over him. The two
hours' ride were like days, and he nearly cried aloud with joy when the
towers of Princeton loomed up beside him and the yellow squares of light
filtered through the blue rain.

Tom was standing in the centre of the room, pensively relighting a
cigar-stub. Amory fancied he looked rather relieved on seeing him.

"Had a hell of a dream about you last night," came in the cracked voice
through the cigar smoke. "I had an idea you were in some trouble."

"Don't tell me about it!" Amory almost shrieked. "Don't say a word; I'm
tired and pepped out."

Tom looked at him queerly and then sank into a chair and opened his
Italian note-book. Amory threw his coat and hat on the floor, loosened
his collar, and took a Wells novel at random from the shelf. "Wells is
sane," he thought, "and if he won't do I'll read Rupert Brooke."

Half an hour passed. Outside the wind came up, and Amory started as
the wet branches moved and clawed with their finger-nails at the
window-pane. Tom was deep in his work, and inside the room only the
occasional scratch of a match or the rustle of leather as they shifted
in their chairs broke the stillness. Then like a zigzag of lightning
came the change. Amory sat bolt upright, frozen cold in his chair. Tom
was looking at him with his mouth drooping, eyes fixed.

"God help us!" Amory cried.

"Oh, my heavens!" shouted Tom, "look behind!" Quick as a flash Amory
whirled around. He saw nothing but the dark window-pane. "It's gone
now," came Tom's voice after a second in a still terror. "S