Norman saw that his finger was trained on the cement dragon, now coldly revealed by the upward glare from the street lights.
"I mean," Gunnison went on, "she must have a dozen photographs of it. Hempnell's her specialty. I believe she's got a photograph of every architectural oddity on campus. That one's her favorite." He chuckled. "Usually it's the husband who keeps ducking down into the darkroom, but not in our family. And me a chemist, at that."
Norman's taut mind had unaccountably jumped to the thought of a bull-roarer. Abruptly he realized the analogy between the recording of a bull-roarer and the photograph of a dragon.
He clamped a lid on the fantastic questions he wanted to ask Gunnison.
"Come on!" he said. "We'd better get along!"
Gunnison started a little at the harshness of his voice.
"Can you drop me off?" asked Norman, more quietly. "My car's at home."
"Sure thing," said Gunnison.
After he had switched out the light, Norman paused for a moment, staring back at the window. The words came back.
"Eppur si muove."