"Describe the barmaid," I said.
"What?"
"Describe the barmaid."
"Fortyish, plain, thickset, red hands, red face, couple of warts. Pleasant expression. Right?"
"Not exactly. You left out a few things."
"What on earth?"
"The green horns, six of 'em, growing out of her face in the middle where the nose should have been. The shifting outlines that looked now like a tree stump and now like an octopus. The pulsing heart of scarlet fire in the belly. The dusky-pink tentacles that pushed the mugs across the bar. The pure hatred that throbbed visibly and seemed to feel cold when it got near you. The eyes like bursting orchids full of slimy white worms."
He put his hand on my arm and tightened his grip until his knuckles grew pale. "Merciful God!" he said quietly. "Merciful God!"
CHAPTER IV