August 9, 2025 • 14 mins
The Time Machine is an 1895 dystopian post-apocalyptic science fiction novella by H. G. Wells about a Victorian scientist known as the Time Traveller who travels to the year 802,701. The work is generally credited with the popularization of the concept of time travel by using a vehicle or device to travel purposely and selectively forward or backward through time. The term "time machine", coined by Wells, is now almost universally used to refer to such a vehicle or device.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter 11
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/just-reads--6173738/support.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter 11
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/just-reads--6173738/support.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Time Machine by H. G. Wells, Chapter twelve. In
the darkness, we emerged in the palace while the sun
was still in part above the horizon. I was determined
to reach the White Sphinx earlier the next morning, and
another dusky purposed pushing through the woods that had stopped
me on the previous journey. My plan was to go
as far as possible that night, and then building a
(00:20):
fire to sleep in the protection of its glare. Accordingly,
as we went along, I gathered sticks or dry grass
I saw, and presently had my arms full of such
litter thus loaded. Our progress was slower than I had anticipated,
And besides, Weena was tired, and I also began to
suffer from sleepiness too, so that it was a full
night before we reached the wood upon the shrubby hill
(00:44):
of its edge. Weena would have stopped fearing the darkness
before us, but a singler sense of impending calamity that
should have indeed served me as a warning drove me onward.
I'd been without sleep for a night in two days,
and I was feverish and irritable. I felt sleep coming
upon me and the morlocks with it. While we hesitated
(01:05):
among the black bushes behind us, and dim against their blackness,
I saw three crouching figures. There was a scrub and
long grass all about us, and I did not feel
safe from their insidious approach. The forest, I calculated, was
rather less than a mile across. If we could get
through it to the bare hillside. There, it seemed to
me was an altogether safer resting place. I thought that
(01:27):
with my matches and my canfer, I could contrive to
keep my path illuminated through the woods. Yet it was
evident if I was to flourish the matches with my hands,
I should have to abandon my firewood. So rather reluctantly
I put it down, And then it came to my
head that I could amaze our friends behind by lighting it.
(01:47):
I was to discover the atrocious folly of this proceeding,
but it came into my head as an ingenious move
for covering our retreat. I don't know if you've ever
thought what a rare thing flame must be in the
absence of man. In a temperate climate, the sun's heat
is rarely strong enough to burn even when its focus
(02:08):
by dewdrops, as is sometimes the case in more tropical districts.
Lightning may blast and blacken, but it rarely gives rise
to widespread fire decay. Vegetation may occasionally smolder with the
heat of its fermentation, but this is rarely resulting in flame.
In this decadence, too, the art of fire making had
been forgotten on the earth. The red tongues that went
(02:30):
licking up my heap of wood were altogether new and
strange thing to Wiener. She wanted to run in and
play with it, but I believe she would have cast
herself had I not restrained her. But I caught her up,
and in spite of her struggles, plunged boldly before me
into the wood for a little way. The glare of
my fire lit the path. Looking back presently, I could
(02:51):
see through the crowded stems and my heap of sticks.
The blaze had spread to some bushes adjacent, and a
curved line of fire was creeping up the grass of
the hill. I laughed at that, and turned back to
the dark trees before me. It was very black, and
Weena clung to me convulsively, but it was still. As
my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, sufficiently light for
(03:11):
me to avoid the stems overhead It was simply black,
except where there was a gap of remote blue skies
shining down upon us. Here and there, I led none
of my matches because I had no hand free. Upon
my left arm I carried my little one, and on
my right hand I had my iron bar some way.
I heard nothing but the crackling twigs under my feet,
(03:33):
the faint rustle of the breeze above, and my own breathing,
and the throb of the blood vessels in my ears.
Then I seemed to know of a pattering behind me.
I pushed on grimly. The pattering grew more distinct, and
then I caught the same queer sound and voices that
I'd heard in the underworld. There were evidently several of
the morelocks, and they were closing in upon me. Indeed,
(03:53):
in another minute, I felt a tug on my coat,
and then something at my arm, and Weena shivered violently
and became quite still. It was time for a match,
but to get one I had to put her down.
I did so as I fumbled in my pocket. A
struggle began in the darkness about my knees, perfectly silent
on her part, and with the same peculiar cooing sounds
from the Morlocks. Soft little hands too, were creeping over
(04:15):
my coat and back, touching even my neck. Then the
match scratched and fizzed. I held it flaring, and saw
the white backs of the Morlocks in flight among the trees.
I hardly took a lump of camphor out of my
pocket and prepared to light it as soon as the
match should wane. Then I looked at Weener. She was
lying clutching at my feet and quite motionless, with her
(04:36):
face to the ground. With a sudden fright, I stooped
to her. She seemed scarcely to breathe. I lit the
block of camphor and flung it to the ground, and
as it split and fled up and drove back, the
Morlocks in the shadow. As I knelt down and lifted her,
the wood behind seemed full of the stir and murmur
of great company. She seemed to have fainted. I put
(04:57):
it carefully upon my shoulder and rose to push off.
And then there came a horrible realization. In maneuvering with
my matches and Wiener, I had turned myself about several times.
Now I had not the faintest idea in which direction
lay my path. For all I knew I might be
facing back towards the palace of green porcelain. I found
myself in a cold sweat. I had to think rapidly
(05:18):
what to do. I determined to build a fire and
then camp where we were. I put Wiener, still motionless,
down upon a turfy bowl, and very hastily, as my
first lump of camphor waned, I began collecting sticks and
leaves here and there out of the darkness around me.
The morlock's eyes shone like carbuncles. The camphor flickered and
(05:39):
went out. I let imagine. As I did so, two
white forms that had been approaching Wiener dashed away hastily.
One was so blinded by the light that he came
straight for me, and I felt his bones grind under
the blow of my fist. He gave a whoop of dismay,
staggered a little way, and fell down a little other
piece of camphor, and went on gathering my bomb fire. Presently,
(06:01):
I had noticed how dry some of the foliage was
above me, For since my arrival in the time machine,
as a matter of a week, no rain had fallen.
So instead of casting about the trees for fallen twigs.
I began leaping up and dragging down the branches. Pretty
soon I had a choking fire of green wood and
dry sticks, which could economize my canphor. Then I turned
(06:22):
to where Weena lay beside my iron mace. I tried
what I could to revive her, but she lay like
one dead. I could not satisfy myself whether or not
she breathed. Now, the smoke of the fire beat over
towards me, and it must have made me heavy all
of a sudden. Moreover, the vapor of camphor was in
the air, and my fire would not need replenishing for
(06:43):
an hour or so. I felt very weary after my exertion,
and sat down. The wood, too, was full of slumbrous
murmur that I did not understand. I seemed to just
nod and open my eyes, But all was dark, and
the moll had their hands upon me, flinging off their
clinging fingers. I hastily felt in my pocket for the
(07:04):
match box, and it had gone. Then they gripped and
closed with me again. In a moment I knew what
had happened. I had slept, and my fire had gone out,
and the bitterness of death came over my soul, the
foresting full of the smell of burning wood. I was
caught by the neck, by the hair, by the arms,
and pulled down. It was indescribably horrible in the darkness
to feel all these soft creatures heaped upon me. I
(07:25):
felt as if I was in a monstrous spider's web.
I was overpowered, and I went down. I felt little
teeth nipping at my neck. I'd rolled over, and as
I did, my hand came against my iron lever. It
gave me strength. I struggled up, shaking the human rats
from me, and holding the bar short, I thrust it
where I judged their faces might be. I could feel
a succulent giving of flesh and bone under my blows,
(07:47):
and for a moment I was free. The strange exultation
that is so often seems to accompany hard fighting came
upon me. I knew that both I and we know
were lost, but I determined to make the morlocks pay
for them. And I stood with my back to a tree,
swinging in the iron bar before me. The whole wood
was full of stir and cries of them. A minute past.
Their voices seemed to raise higher in pitches of excitement.
(08:10):
Their movements grew faster, yet none came within reach. I
stood glaring at the blackness, and then suddenly came hope,
what if the morlocks were afraid and close on the heels.
At that came a strange thing. That darkness seemed to
grow luminous, very dimly. I saw the morlocks about me,
three battered at my feet, and then I recognized with
(08:30):
incredulous surprise that the others were running in an ascessant streams,
it seemed, from behind me and away through the wood
in front, and their backs seemed no longer white but reddish.
As I stood agape, I saw the little red spark
go drifting across a gap of starlight between the branches
and vanish. And at that I understood the smell of
the burning wood, the slumbrous murmur that was growing now
(08:53):
into a gusty roar, the red glow, and the morlock's flight.
Stepping out from behind my tree, and looking back, I
saw through the black pillars of the nearer trees the
flames of the burning forest. It was my first fire
coming after me. With that, I looked for Weena, but
she was gone. Hissing and crackling behind me, the explosive
(09:15):
thud as each fresh tree burst into flames, left little
time for reflection. My iron bar still gripped, I followed
the morlock's path. It was a close race. Once the
flames crept forward so swiftly on my right as I
ran that I was out flanked and had to strike
off to the left. But at last I merged upon
a small open space. As I did so, a morlock
(09:36):
came blundering towards me, and passed me and went straight
into the fire. And now now I was to see
the most weird and horrible thing I think that I
beheld in that future age. The whole space was bright
as day with the reflection of the fire. In the
center was a hillock or tumulus, surrounded by a scorched hawthorn.
(09:59):
Beyond this, this was yet another arm at the burning forest,
with yellow tongues already writhing from it, completely encircling the
space with a fence of fire. Upon the hillside, there
were some thirty or forty morelocks, dazzled by the light
and heat, and blundering hither and thither against each other
in their bewilderment. At first I did not realize their blindness,
(10:19):
and struck ferociously at them with my bar in a
frenzy of fear as they approached me, killing one and
crippling several more. But when I watched the gestures of
one of them grouping under the hawthorn against the red sky,
and heard their moans, I was assured of their absolute
helplessness and misery in the glare, and I struck no
more of them. Yet every now and then one would
(10:40):
come straight towards me, setting loose a quivering horror that
made me quick to elude him. At one time, the
flames died down somewhat, and I feared the foul creatures
will presently be able to see me. I was thinking
of beginning the fight by killing some of them before
this should happen. But the fire burst out again brightly,
and I stayed my hand. I walked about the hill,
hung them, and avoided them, looking for some trace of Wiena.
(11:03):
But Wiena was gone. At last. I sat down on
the summit of the hillock and watched this little, strange,
incredible company of blind things, groping to and fro and
making uncanny noises to each other as a glare at
the fire beat on them. At last, I sat down
on the summit of the hillock and watched this strange,
(11:23):
incredible company of blind things, groping to and fro and
making uncanny noises to each other as a glare at
the fire beat upon them. The coiling up rush of
smoke streamed across the sky and through the rare tatters
of that red canopy, that remote, as though they belonged
to another universe, shone the little stars. Two or three
morlocks came blundering into me, and I drove them off
(11:45):
with blows of my fists, trembling as I did so.
For the most part of that night, I was persuaded
it was a nightmare. I bit myself and screamed in
a passionate desire to awake. I beat the ground at
my hands, and got up and sat down again, and
wondered here and there, and sat down. Then I would fall,
rubbing my eyes and calling upon God to let me awake.
(12:07):
Thrice I saw morlocks put their heads down in a
kind of agony and rush into the flames. But at last,
above the subsiding red of fire, above these streaming masses
of black smoke, and the whitening and blackening of tree stumps,
and the diminishing numbers of these dim creatures. Came the
white light of day. I searched again for traces of Wieno,
(12:29):
but there were none. It was plain that they had
left her poor little body in the forest. I can't
describe how it relieved me to think that it had
escaped the awful fate to which it seemed destined. As
I thought of that, I was almost moved to begin
a massacre of the helpless abominations about me, but I
contained myself. The hill look, as I have said, was
(12:50):
kind of an island in the forest. From its summit
I could now make out, through a haze of smoke,
the palace of green porcelain, and from that I could
get my bearings for the white Sphinx, and so leaving
the remnant of these damned souls, still going hither and
thither and moaning. As the day grew clearer, I tied
(13:11):
some grass about my feet and limped on across the
smoking ashes among the black stems, as still pulsated internally
with fire, towards the hiding place of the time machine.
I walked slowly, for I was almost exhausted as well
as lame, and I felt the intensive wretchedness of this
horrible death of little Wiener. It seemed an overwhelming calamity.
(13:35):
Now in it's old, familiar room, it is more like
the sorrow of a dream than a natural loss. But
that morning it left me absolutely lonely again, terribly lonely.
I began to think of this house of mine, of
this fireside, of some of you, and with such thoughts
it came a longing that was pain. But as I
(13:57):
walked over the smoking ashes under the bright morning star sky,
I made a discovery. In my trouser pocket. There were
still some loose matches. The box must have leaked before
it was lost.
The Time Machine by H. G. Wells, Chapter twelve. In
the darkness, we emerged in the palace while the sun
was still in part above the horizon. I was determined
to reach the White Sphinx earlier the next morning, and
another dusky purposed pushing through the woods that had stopped
me on the previous journey. My plan was to go
as far as possible that night, and then building a
(00:20):
fire to sleep in the protection of its glare. Accordingly,
as we went along, I gathered sticks or dry grass
I saw, and presently had my arms full of such
litter thus loaded. Our progress was slower than I had anticipated,
And besides, Weena was tired, and I also began to
suffer from sleepiness too, so that it was a full
night before we reached the wood upon the shrubby hill
(00:44):
of its edge. Weena would have stopped fearing the darkness
before us, but a singler sense of impending calamity that
should have indeed served me as a warning drove me onward.
I'd been without sleep for a night in two days,
and I was feverish and irritable. I felt sleep coming
upon me and the morlocks with it. While we hesitated
(01:05):
among the black bushes behind us, and dim against their blackness,
I saw three crouching figures. There was a scrub and
long grass all about us, and I did not feel
safe from their insidious approach. The forest, I calculated, was
rather less than a mile across. If we could get
through it to the bare hillside. There, it seemed to
me was an altogether safer resting place. I thought that
(01:27):
with my matches and my canfer, I could contrive to
keep my path illuminated through the woods. Yet it was
evident if I was to flourish the matches with my hands,
I should have to abandon my firewood. So rather reluctantly
I put it down, And then it came to my
head that I could amaze our friends behind by lighting it.
(01:47):
I was to discover the atrocious folly of this proceeding,
but it came into my head as an ingenious move
for covering our retreat. I don't know if you've ever
thought what a rare thing flame must be in the
absence of man. In a temperate climate, the sun's heat
is rarely strong enough to burn even when its focus
(02:08):
by dewdrops, as is sometimes the case in more tropical districts.
Lightning may blast and blacken, but it rarely gives rise
to widespread fire decay. Vegetation may occasionally smolder with the
heat of its fermentation, but this is rarely resulting in flame.
In this decadence, too, the art of fire making had
been forgotten on the earth. The red tongues that went
(02:30):
licking up my heap of wood were altogether new and
strange thing to Wiener. She wanted to run in and
play with it, but I believe she would have cast
herself had I not restrained her. But I caught her up,
and in spite of her struggles, plunged boldly before me
into the wood for a little way. The glare of
my fire lit the path. Looking back presently, I could
(02:51):
see through the crowded stems and my heap of sticks.
The blaze had spread to some bushes adjacent, and a
curved line of fire was creeping up the grass of
the hill. I laughed at that, and turned back to
the dark trees before me. It was very black, and
Weena clung to me convulsively, but it was still. As
my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, sufficiently light for
(03:11):
me to avoid the stems overhead It was simply black,
except where there was a gap of remote blue skies
shining down upon us. Here and there, I led none
of my matches because I had no hand free. Upon
my left arm I carried my little one, and on
my right hand I had my iron bar some way.
I heard nothing but the crackling twigs under my feet,
(03:33):
the faint rustle of the breeze above, and my own breathing,
and the throb of the blood vessels in my ears.
Then I seemed to know of a pattering behind me.
I pushed on grimly. The pattering grew more distinct, and
then I caught the same queer sound and voices that
I'd heard in the underworld. There were evidently several of
the morelocks, and they were closing in upon me. Indeed,
(03:53):
in another minute, I felt a tug on my coat,
and then something at my arm, and Weena shivered violently
and became quite still. It was time for a match,
but to get one I had to put her down.
I did so as I fumbled in my pocket. A
struggle began in the darkness about my knees, perfectly silent
on her part, and with the same peculiar cooing sounds
from the Morlocks. Soft little hands too, were creeping over
(04:15):
my coat and back, touching even my neck. Then the
match scratched and fizzed. I held it flaring, and saw
the white backs of the Morlocks in flight among the trees.
I hardly took a lump of camphor out of my
pocket and prepared to light it as soon as the
match should wane. Then I looked at Weener. She was
lying clutching at my feet and quite motionless, with her
(04:36):
face to the ground. With a sudden fright, I stooped
to her. She seemed scarcely to breathe. I lit the
block of camphor and flung it to the ground, and
as it split and fled up and drove back, the
Morlocks in the shadow. As I knelt down and lifted her,
the wood behind seemed full of the stir and murmur
of great company. She seemed to have fainted. I put
(04:57):
it carefully upon my shoulder and rose to push off.
And then there came a horrible realization. In maneuvering with
my matches and Wiener, I had turned myself about several times.
Now I had not the faintest idea in which direction
lay my path. For all I knew I might be
facing back towards the palace of green porcelain. I found
myself in a cold sweat. I had to think rapidly
(05:18):
what to do. I determined to build a fire and
then camp where we were. I put Wiener, still motionless,
down upon a turfy bowl, and very hastily, as my
first lump of camphor waned, I began collecting sticks and
leaves here and there out of the darkness around me.
The morlock's eyes shone like carbuncles. The camphor flickered and
(05:39):
went out. I let imagine. As I did so, two
white forms that had been approaching Wiener dashed away hastily.
One was so blinded by the light that he came
straight for me, and I felt his bones grind under
the blow of my fist. He gave a whoop of dismay,
staggered a little way, and fell down a little other
piece of camphor, and went on gathering my bomb fire. Presently,
(06:01):
I had noticed how dry some of the foliage was
above me, For since my arrival in the time machine,
as a matter of a week, no rain had fallen.
So instead of casting about the trees for fallen twigs.
I began leaping up and dragging down the branches. Pretty
soon I had a choking fire of green wood and
dry sticks, which could economize my canphor. Then I turned
(06:22):
to where Weena lay beside my iron mace. I tried
what I could to revive her, but she lay like
one dead. I could not satisfy myself whether or not
she breathed. Now, the smoke of the fire beat over
towards me, and it must have made me heavy all
of a sudden. Moreover, the vapor of camphor was in
the air, and my fire would not need replenishing for
(06:43):
an hour or so. I felt very weary after my exertion,
and sat down. The wood, too, was full of slumbrous
murmur that I did not understand. I seemed to just
nod and open my eyes, But all was dark, and
the moll had their hands upon me, flinging off their
clinging fingers. I hastily felt in my pocket for the
(07:04):
match box, and it had gone. Then they gripped and
closed with me again. In a moment I knew what
had happened. I had slept, and my fire had gone out,
and the bitterness of death came over my soul, the
foresting full of the smell of burning wood. I was
caught by the neck, by the hair, by the arms,
and pulled down. It was indescribably horrible in the darkness
to feel all these soft creatures heaped upon me. I
(07:25):
felt as if I was in a monstrous spider's web.
I was overpowered, and I went down. I felt little
teeth nipping at my neck. I'd rolled over, and as
I did, my hand came against my iron lever. It
gave me strength. I struggled up, shaking the human rats
from me, and holding the bar short, I thrust it
where I judged their faces might be. I could feel
a succulent giving of flesh and bone under my blows,
(07:47):
and for a moment I was free. The strange exultation
that is so often seems to accompany hard fighting came
upon me. I knew that both I and we know
were lost, but I determined to make the morlocks pay
for them. And I stood with my back to a tree,
swinging in the iron bar before me. The whole wood
was full of stir and cries of them. A minute past.
Their voices seemed to raise higher in pitches of excitement.
(08:10):
Their movements grew faster, yet none came within reach. I
stood glaring at the blackness, and then suddenly came hope,
what if the morlocks were afraid and close on the heels.
At that came a strange thing. That darkness seemed to
grow luminous, very dimly. I saw the morlocks about me,
three battered at my feet, and then I recognized with
(08:30):
incredulous surprise that the others were running in an ascessant streams,
it seemed, from behind me and away through the wood
in front, and their backs seemed no longer white but reddish.
As I stood agape, I saw the little red spark
go drifting across a gap of starlight between the branches
and vanish. And at that I understood the smell of
the burning wood, the slumbrous murmur that was growing now
(08:53):
into a gusty roar, the red glow, and the morlock's flight.
Stepping out from behind my tree, and looking back, I
saw through the black pillars of the nearer trees the
flames of the burning forest. It was my first fire
coming after me. With that, I looked for Weena, but
she was gone. Hissing and crackling behind me, the explosive
(09:15):
thud as each fresh tree burst into flames, left little
time for reflection. My iron bar still gripped, I followed
the morlock's path. It was a close race. Once the
flames crept forward so swiftly on my right as I
ran that I was out flanked and had to strike
off to the left. But at last I merged upon
a small open space. As I did so, a morlock
(09:36):
came blundering towards me, and passed me and went straight
into the fire. And now now I was to see
the most weird and horrible thing I think that I
beheld in that future age. The whole space was bright
as day with the reflection of the fire. In the
center was a hillock or tumulus, surrounded by a scorched hawthorn.
(09:59):
Beyond this, this was yet another arm at the burning forest,
with yellow tongues already writhing from it, completely encircling the
space with a fence of fire. Upon the hillside, there
were some thirty or forty morelocks, dazzled by the light
and heat, and blundering hither and thither against each other
in their bewilderment. At first I did not realize their blindness,
(10:19):
and struck ferociously at them with my bar in a
frenzy of fear as they approached me, killing one and
crippling several more. But when I watched the gestures of
one of them grouping under the hawthorn against the red sky,
and heard their moans, I was assured of their absolute
helplessness and misery in the glare, and I struck no
more of them. Yet every now and then one would
(10:40):
come straight towards me, setting loose a quivering horror that
made me quick to elude him. At one time, the
flames died down somewhat, and I feared the foul creatures
will presently be able to see me. I was thinking
of beginning the fight by killing some of them before
this should happen. But the fire burst out again brightly,
and I stayed my hand. I walked about the hill,
hung them, and avoided them, looking for some trace of Wiena.
(11:03):
But Wiena was gone. At last. I sat down on
the summit of the hillock and watched this little, strange,
incredible company of blind things, groping to and fro and
making uncanny noises to each other as a glare at
the fire beat on them. At last, I sat down
on the summit of the hillock and watched this strange,
(11:23):
incredible company of blind things, groping to and fro and
making uncanny noises to each other as a glare at
the fire beat upon them. The coiling up rush of
smoke streamed across the sky and through the rare tatters
of that red canopy, that remote, as though they belonged
to another universe, shone the little stars. Two or three
morlocks came blundering into me, and I drove them off
(11:45):
with blows of my fists, trembling as I did so.
For the most part of that night, I was persuaded
it was a nightmare. I bit myself and screamed in
a passionate desire to awake. I beat the ground at
my hands, and got up and sat down again, and
wondered here and there, and sat down. Then I would fall,
rubbing my eyes and calling upon God to let me awake.
(12:07):
Thrice I saw morlocks put their heads down in a
kind of agony and rush into the flames. But at last,
above the subsiding red of fire, above these streaming masses
of black smoke, and the whitening and blackening of tree stumps,
and the diminishing numbers of these dim creatures. Came the
white light of day. I searched again for traces of Wieno,
(12:29):
but there were none. It was plain that they had
left her poor little body in the forest. I can't
describe how it relieved me to think that it had
escaped the awful fate to which it seemed destined. As
I thought of that, I was almost moved to begin
a massacre of the helpless abominations about me, but I
contained myself. The hill look, as I have said, was
(12:50):
kind of an island in the forest. From its summit
I could now make out, through a haze of smoke,
the palace of green porcelain, and from that I could
get my bearings for the white Sphinx, and so leaving
the remnant of these damned souls, still going hither and
thither and moaning. As the day grew clearer, I tied
(13:11):
some grass about my feet and limped on across the
smoking ashes among the black stems, as still pulsated internally
with fire, towards the hiding place of the time machine.
I walked slowly, for I was almost exhausted as well
as lame, and I felt the intensive wretchedness of this
horrible death of little Wiener. It seemed an overwhelming calamity.
(13:35):
Now in it's old, familiar room, it is more like
the sorrow of a dream than a natural loss. But
that morning it left me absolutely lonely again, terribly lonely.
I began to think of this house of mine, of
this fireside, of some of you, and with such thoughts
it came a longing that was pain. But as I
(13:57):
walked over the smoking ashes under the bright morning star sky,
I made a discovery. In my trouser pocket. There were
still some loose matches. The box must have leaked before
it was lost.
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