No niggard churl our High Chieftain, But lavishly His gifts are made, Like streams from a moat that flow amain, Or rushing waves that rise unstayed.

Martin tolled the great bell every day.

“No. Not quite a month.—It is only four weeks to-morrow since I left Mansfield.” “You are a most accurate and honest reckoner. I should call that a month.”

The real problem is that a true Wellsian time machine would run into itself. The time machine on its pastward journey just after you flip the switch and the time machine sitting there just before you flip the switch will run into each other […]