Epilogue

Michael Gold paused, trying to catch his breath. He seemed to be reliving the terror that had seized him in the mountains of South America.

“And Plath is gone?” exclaimed the vicar ruefully.

Alas, John, yes. A strange insanity has deprived me of this most valuable relic!

- What a pity! What do you think it was?

“I have puzzled over this for three hundred years, explaining everything as the revenge of higher powers. It was only three years ago that I read an article in The Sunday Times that I think explains the panic attack that happened to me then. The article said that a certain John Balderston, director of the London Lyric Theater, was preparing a play for staging, where the characters were transported into the past as the action progressed. He wanted to come up with something spectacular so that the audience at that moment felt the psychological tension. And Mr. Balderston turned to his friend, the physicist Robert Wood, for help. He made a pipe, like an organ, but longer and thick
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