H. H. Hollis, page 2
“Sweetheart!” she cried. “What -was that butcher knife? I had to dodge like crazy!” And she engulfed the student in a squid-like embrace. A moment later she saw the professor and recoiled.
“Who is this bald-headed old creep?” she said. “I draw the line at voyeurs, honey.” And with a wink and a nod, she and the student dumped the professor into the expanded cube and collapsed it about him.
Even in the endless instant which is the inside of his device, time has begun to seem long to the topologist. He knows the girl and the student are long since dust in the whirling, kaleidoscopic world outside. He is beginning to be transparent, so he knows his substance is slowly plating out along the entire cylindrico-spherical space-time continuum.
He has realized that when he is fully distributed, the universe will be at an end; and he has composed a most astounding paper in his head explaining the whole phenomenon. His only regret is that he will never be able to send it to the Journal of Topology for publication.
Sword Game, H. H. Hollis
