“ Mr. Malakite at Weymouth” and that piece of paper wrapped about Mukalog had become part of his very brain⁠ ⁠… part of the machinery of his brain⁠ ⁠… but his mind was grappling now with something more than machinery. More? Yes! There was more⁠ ⁠… somewhere⁠ ⁠… more⁠ ⁠… than just this dawn-chilled Space, through which, like a wingless, tailless, beakless bird’s head, with oceans for eyes, the earth he lived upon lurched, darted, oscillated, shivered, spun!