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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 103 WXOS signed off with news of a tank truck burning, up the highway. He fell fast asleep. He would remember reaching for the clock with its faint glow. Daytime, still, but this darkness. . .? He woke, uneasy as a vampire in a solar eclipse. The palm fronds beat angrily at the window. But then, since he was writing, he re-thought that one. The palm fronds beat neutrally at the window. Get a feeling for the void. The parson moved like a shade in the gray yard. "So this is your pad." "Yes sir come in." "I am troubled." "Perhaps a bit of stiffness in this weather. Can I get you some tea?" "Do you have Sanka?" "I was just into this Schofield Bible," Dorian Clayton confessed. "Cainitic. . .is a word that intrigues me. The idea of an entire civilization. . .drowning." The parson moved to a slat of the boarded northwest window for a view of the hurricane. "Dorian," he began, "as clear as I can see it. . . the problem is the pessimism gathering in those clouds. . |
