XVI.
After the Story
I know, he said, after a pause, that all this will be absolutely
incredible to you, but to me the one incredible thing is that I am here
tonight in this old familiar room looking into your friendly faces and
telling you these strange adventures. He looked at the Medical Man.
No. I cannot expect you to believe it. Take it as a lie or a prophecy.
Say I dreamed it in the workshop. Consider I have been speculating upon
the destinies of our race, until I have hatched this fiction. Treat my
assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art to enhance its interest.
And taking it as a story, what do you think of it?
He took up his pipe, and began, in his old accustomed manner, to tap
with it nervously upon the bars of the grate. There was a momentary
stillness. Then chairs began to creak and shoes to scrape upon the
carpet. I took my eyes off the Time Traveller s face, and looked round
at his audience. They were in the dark, and little spots of colour swam
before them. The Medical Man seemed absorbed in the contemplation of
our host. The Editor was looking hard at the end of his cigar the
sixth. The Journalist fumbled for his watch. The others, as far as I
remember, were motionless.
The Editor stood up with a sigh. What a pity it is you re not a writer
of stories! he said, putting his hand on the Time Traveller s
shoulder.
You don t believe it?
Well
I thought not.
The Time Traveller turned to us. Where are the matches? he said. He
lit one and spoke over his pipe, puffing. To tell you the truth... I
hardly believe it myself..... And yet...
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