Then, before the guard could shove Jerry forward into that waiting mechanical mouth, Jerry noticed the odd shimmer of grayness that lay between himself and the waiting teeth, and he remembered that he was in a world of illusion.
At precisely that moment he knew beyond a doubt that those waiting jaws were illusion in form only. An atomic duplicator does not have to chew its intake. It merely dissolves the atomic bonds with the rays that flash between its power plates on either side of the disruption platform. The waiting mouth and teeth were mere symbols in Jerry's mind of what was about to occur.
They were unreal—but they could be fatal.
He shut his eyes, shoved backward with his feet, and thought of Carol as he'd first glimpsed her.
When he opened his eyes once more, she was standing before him in her ballroom gown again, and the band was just beginning to play their song once more.
"Jerry," she said, taking his arm. "Dance with me."
"No. We're in danger here. Come on, I'll get your coat. We've got to go away quickly."
A spark of alarm showed briefly in her eyes. Then she nodded wordlessly and hurried up the marble staircase with him to the lobby. Jerry got her coat from the check-room—a marvelous silvery fur that covered her from neck to waist—and then they were heading out into the fog together.
"Good evening to you, sir," said the doorman, eyes and buttons bright.