Crane didn't get the nice man's name—until it was far too late to do anything at all about it.
The man said, "I want you to listen to me, Jack. You'll forget my name, which isn't important. But you will always remember me and my visit, won't you?"
Jack stared at the impenetrable lenses and nodded dumbly.
Mister turned to Jack's father. "Let his fancy grow. It is a necessary wish-fulfillment play. Like all human young who are good for anything at all, he is trying to find the lost door to the Garden of Eden. The history of the great poets and men-of-action is the history of the attempt to return to the realm that Adam lost, the forgotten Hesperides of the mind, the Avalon buried in our soul."
Mr. Crane put his fingertips together. "Yes?"
"Personally, I think that some day man will realize just what he is searching for and will invent a machine that will enable the child to project, just as a film throws an image on a screen, the visions in his psyche.
"I see you're interested," he continued. "You would be, naturally, since you're a professor of philosophy. Now, le
A creepy story of a future where public health authorities round up transients and stash them in concentration camps, mixed in with a narrative about an albino insurance salesman.
Good description and characterizations with a dollop of horror at the end.