...
A moth fell with a soft and disconcerting plop upon the top of his
head, cannonaded thence against the window-sill, and shot out into the
night again. He came back with a start to _his_ reality: that he had
promised the children an Extra Day, that for twenty-four hours, in
spite of the paradox, Time should cease its driving hurry--and that,
for the moment at any rate, he was very sleepy and must go upstairs to
bed.
He rose, shook himself free of the curious reverie with a mighty yawn,
and looked at the gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. Out came a
number of other timepieces with it! And it was then that the
personality of Maria entered the room, and stood beside him, and said
distinctly, "This is _my_ particular adventure, please remember."
And he understood that whatever happened, it would happen according to
the gospel of Maria. Getting behind Time meant getting a little nearer
to Reality, one stage nearer at any rate. It meant entering the region
where she dwelt so serenely. It was her doing, and not his. He
realised in a flash that in her quiet way she was responsible and had
drawn them in, seduced them.
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