Chapter 4

           IcanhardlydescribethemoodinwhichIwasleftbythisharrowingepisode—anepisodeatoncemadandpitiful,grotesqueandterrifying.Thegroceryboyhadpreparedmeforit,yettherealityleftmenonethelessbewilderedanddisturbed.Puerilethoughthestorywas,oldZadok’sinsaneearnestnessandhorrorhadcommunicatedtomeamountingunrestwhichjoinedwithmyearliersenseofloathingforthetownanditsblightofintangibleshadow.

           LaterImightsiftthetaleandextractsomenucleusofhistoricallegory;justnowIwishedtoputitoutofmyhead.Thehourgrownperilouslylate—mywatchsaid7:15,andtheArkhambusleftTownSquareateight—soItriedtogivemythoughtsasneutralandpracticalacastaspossible,meanwhilewalkingrapidlythroughthedesertedstreetsofgapingroofsandleaninghousestowardthehotelwhereIhadcheckedmyvaliseandwouldfindmybus.

           Thoughthegoldenlightoflateafternoongavetheancientroofsanddecrepitchimneysanairofmysticlovelinessandpeace,Icouldnothelpglancingovermyshouldernowandthen.Iwouldsurelybeverygladtogetoutofmalodorousandfear-shadowedInnsmouth,andwishedthereweresomeothervehiclethanthebusdrivenbythatsinister-lookingfellowSargent.YetIdidnothurrytooprecipitately,fortherewerearchitecturaldetailsworthviewingateverysilentcorner;andIcouldeasily,Icalculated,coverthenecessarydistanceinahalf-hour.