The Voice in the Fog
Harold MacGrath
A London fog, solid, substantial, yellow as an old dog's tooth or a jaundiced eye. You could not look through it, nor yet gaze up and down it, nor over it; and you only thought you saw it. The eye became impotent, untrustworthy; all senses lay fallow except that of touch; the skin alone conveyed to you with promptness and no incertitude that this thing had substance. You could feel it; you could open and shut your hands and sense it on your palms, and it penetrated your clothes and beaded your spectacles and rings and bracelets and shoe-buckles. It was nightmare, bereft of its pillows, grown somnambulistic; and London became the antechamber to Hades, lackeyed by idle dreams and peopled by mistakes.
Year:
1915
Publisher:
Feedbooks
Language:
english
ISBN:
B1585CD8-197D-11E7-BC5B-4C72B9252EC6
File:
AZW3 , 239 KB
IPFS:
,
english, 1915