The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him)

was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and

twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The

fire burned brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent

lights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and

passed in our glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and

caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that

luxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought roams gracefully

free of the trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this

way--marking the points with a lean forefinger--as we sat and lazily

admired his earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it)

and his fecundity.

'You must follow me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or two

ideas that are almost universally accepted. The geometry, for

instance, they taught you at school is founded on a misconception.'

'Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin upon?' said

Filby, an argumentative person with red hair.

'I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without reasonable

ground for it. You will soon admit as much as I need from you. You

know of course that a mathematical line, a line of thickness nil,

The Time Machine