remens.
Possibly, by the most liberal estimate, it may have taken Ed Morrell two
minutes to tap his question. Yet, to me, aeons elapsed between the first
tap of his knuckle and the last. No longer could I tread my starry path
with that ineffable pristine joy, for my way was beset with dread of the
inevitable summons that would rip and tear me as it jerked me back to my
strait-jacket hell. Thus my aeons of star-wandering were aeons of dread.
And all the time I knew it was Ed Morrell's knuckle that thus cruelly
held me earth-bound. I tried to speak to him, to ask him to cease. But
so thoroughly had I eliminated my body from my consciousness that I was
unable to resurrect it. My body lay dead in the jacket, though I still
inhabited the skull. In vain I strove to will my foot to tap my message
to Morrell. I reasoned I had a foot. And yet, so thoroughly had I
carried out the experiment, I had no foot.
Next--and I know now that it was because Morrell had spelled his message
quite out--I pursued my way among the stars and was not called back.
After that, and in the course of it, I was aware, drowsily, that I was
falling asleep, and that it was delicious sleep. From time to time,
drowsily, I stirred--please, my reader, don't miss that verb--I STIRRED.
I moved my legs, my arms. I was aware of clean, soft bed linen against
my skin. I was aware of bodily well-being. Oh, it was delicious! As
thirsting men on the desert dream of splashing fountains and flowing
wells, so dreamed I of easement from the constriction of the jacket, of
cleanliness in the place of filth, of smooth velvety skin of health in
place of my poor parchment-crinkled hide. But I dreamed with a
difference, as you shall see.
I awoke. Oh, broad and wide awake I was, although I did not open my
eyes. And please know that in all that follows I knew no surprise
whatever. Everything was the natural and the expected. I was I, be sure
of that. _But I was not Darrell Standing_. Darrell Standing had no more
to do with the being I was than did Darrell Standing's parchment-crinkled
skin have aught to do with the cool, soft skin that was mine. Nor was I
aware of any Darrell Standing--as I could not well be, considering that
Darrell Standing was as yet unborn and would not be born for centuries.
But you shall see.
I lay with closed eyes, lazily listening. From without came the clacking
of many hoofs moving orderly on stone flags. From the accompan
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