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He turned his head over his shoulder to the right, to look at the
boots of his interlocutor with a view to comparisons, and lo! where
the boots of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs
nor boots. He was irradiated by the dawn of a great amazement.
"
Where are yer?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder and
coming on all fours. He saw a stretch of empty downs with the wind
swaying the remote green-pointed furze bushes.
"
Am I drunk?" said Mr. Marvel. "Have I had visions? Was I talking
to myself? What the--"
"
"
Don't be alarmed," said a Voice.
None of your ventriloquising me," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising
sharply to his feet. "Where are yer? Alarmed, indeed!"
"
"
Don't be alarmed," repeated the Voice.
You'll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool," said Mr. Thomas
Marvel. "Where are yer? Lemme get my mark on yer...
"Are yer buried?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, after an interval.
There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed,
his jacket nearly thrown off.
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