A touch of the hand and this burning would, 

on the instant, 

beautifully reverse itself. 

Eckels remembered the wording 

in the advertisements to the letter. 

Out of chars and ashes, 

out of dust and coals, 

like golden salamanders, 

the old years, 

the green years, 

might leap; 

roses sweeten the air, 

white hair turn Irish-black, 

wrinkles vanish; 

all, 

everything fly back to seed, 

flee death, 

rush down to their beginnings, 

suns rise in western skies 

and set in glorious easts, 

moons eat themselves opposite to the custom, 

all 

and everything 

cupping one in another like Chinese boxes, 

rabbits into hats, 

all 

and everything 

returning to the fresh death, 

the seed death, 

the green death, 

to the time before the beginning. 

A touch of a hand might do it, 

the merest touch of a hand.

"Yes, even that tough-minded old Swede, who'd go up to the 🤬 himself and ask him for a light. Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw there before. All I could get out of him was `This place has an evil name among seafaring men, sir.' Then he said to me, very gravely, `Don't you feel anything?'--as if the air about us was actually poisonous. Now, you mustn't laugh when I tell you this--I did feel something like a sudden chill.

Yes, even that tough

minded old Swede

who'd go up to the 🤬 himself 

and ask him for a light

Those fishy blue eyes 

held a look I never saw there before

All I could get out of him was

This place has

an evil name among seafaring men, sir

Then he said to me very gravely

Don't you feel anything as if the air about us 

was actually poisonous

Now, you mustn't laugh 

when I tell you this

I did feel something 

like a sudden chill