'Yes,' said I, 'yes, Leda.'
'What was the color,' says she, 'of the poison-cloud which destroyed the world?'
'Purple, Leda,' said I.
'And it had a smell like almonds or peach blossoms, did it not?' says she.
'Yes,' said I, 'yes.'
'Then,' says she, 'there is another eruption. Every now and again I seem to scent strange whiffs like that ... and there is a purple vapour in the East which glows and glows ... just see if you can see it....'
I flew across the room to an east window, threw up the grimy sash, and looked. But the view was barred by the plain brick back of a tall warehouse. I rushed back, gasped to her to wait, rushed down the two stairs, and out upon the Hard. For a minute I ran dodging wildly about, seeking a purview to the East, and finally ran up the dockyard, behind the storehouses to the Semaphore, and reached the top, panting for life. I looked abroad. The morning sky, but for a bank of cloud to the north-west, was cloudless, the sun blazing in a region of clear azure pallor. And back again I flew.
'I cannot see it...!' I cried.
'Then it has not tlavelled far enough to the north-west yet,' she said with decision.
'My wife!' I cried: 'you are my wife now!'