"I seem to see a big cylinder rolling through space, sweeping the stars out of its way...."
Four hours. Only three minutes left now, in the normal world. I can't wait to get any deeper, Herman thought. It's got to be now or never.
"You must understand that these feelings of resentment and hatred are normal," he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice, "but, at the same time, you have outgrown them—you can rise above them now. You are an individual in your own right, Primus. You have a job to do that only you can fill, and it's an important job. That's what matters, not all this infantile emotional clutter...."
He talked on, not daring to look at his watch.
Primus looked up, and a huge smile broke over his face. He began, "Why, of—"
erman found himself walking along Forty-second Street, heading toward the Hudson. The pavement was solid under his feet; the canyon between the buildings was filled with the soft violet-orange glow of a summer evening in New York. In the eyes of the people he passed, he saw the same incredulous relief he felt. It was over. He'd done it.
He'd broken all the rules, but, incredibly, he'd got results.
Then he looked up and a chill spread over him. No one who knew the city would accept that ithyphallic parody as the Empire State Building, or those huge fleshy curves, as wanton as the mountains in which Mr. Maugham's "Sadie Thompson" had her lusty existence, as the prosaic hills of New Jersey.