Magically barred from entering the station by the salt barriers, the demons fan out to possess 30 or so town locals. In their newly acquired “meatsuits,” they return to the station and gaze eerily at the building.

… “The beauty of the Subterrene is that, as it burrows through the rock hundreds of feet below the surface, it heats whatever stone it encounters into molten rock, or magma, which cools after the Subterrene has moved on. …

[…] I met a stranger, a quiet little man, who also had been under the weather from malaria.

A waiter brought his aperitif, which was a small scotch and soda, and as he sipped it gratefully he sighed. ‘Civilized,’ he said to Mr. Campion. ‘Humanizing.’ […] ‘Cigars and summer days and women in big hats with swansdown face-powder, that's what it reminds me of.’