The Time Machine
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After Thursday dinner in Richmond, your host argues that duration is a fourth direction, and that only our senses keep us travelling along it at one fixed rate. You are one of the sceptics at his table. He fetches a thing of brass and ivory the size of a clock, lets the table mark its base with four crumbs, and has the Psychologist press the lever himself. Nothing falls. Nothing rings on the carpet. Then he unlocks the laboratory door.
Read The Time MachineChapters
- The Fourth DirectionRichmond Dining Room