"Of course
it is! Hadrian's terrified invocation to his own parting spirit.
'Guest and companion of my body; into what places will you now go?'
Average, it's uncanny! Into what place of darkness and dread is the
Demon of the Pin trying to drive poor Robinson's spirit?"
Average Jones shook his head. "'Pailidula, nudula, rigida,"' he
completed the quatrain. "'Ghostpale, stark, and rigid.' He's got a
grisly imagination, that pin-operator. I shouldn't care to have him
on my trail."
"But Robinson!" protested Bertram feebly. "What has a plump,
commonplace, twentieth-century, cutaway-wearing, flat-inhabiting
Robinson to do with a Roman emperor's soul-questionings?"
"Perhaps the last entry of the lot will tell us. Palmerto's
Magazine's feature announcement, received November ninth. No; it
doesn't give any clue to the Latinity. It isn't bad, though. 'The
darkness falls.' That's all there is to it. And enough."
"I should say the darkness did fall," confirmed Bertram. "It
falls--and remains."
Average Jones pushed the collection of advertisements aside and
returned to the opening phase of the problem, the fish-bait circular
which Robinson had mailed him.
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