“In the way of making everything—different.”
“How much does that mean—different?”
“It means a good deal.”
“Can’t you tell me exactly?”
“I can’t tell you exactly; but it was something like this.” She fixed her eyes on me steadily. “When they first opened the Subway in New York I came up out of a station one winter afternoon just as the lights were lit, and instead of going to the right, as I should have done, I turned to the left. When I had walked about fifteen minutes I was dazed. Though I was in a part of New York I knew perfectly well, I couldn’t recognize anything. It was all a confusion of lights. I couldn’t tell which of the streets ran north and south, or which were east and west, or what the buildings were that I’d been used to seeing all my life. In the end some one took me into a drug-store and made me sit down till I had time to reorientate myself.”
“But you did it in the end?”
“That time—yes.”
“And this time? The time we’re talking about?”
Whir-r-r! Z-z-z! P-ff!
Bang!