Page:Weird Tales Volume 35 Number 09 (1941-05).djvu/42



The fog is on Yesterdays edge—for Time ceases when the mists begin.

HE morning had been dull, dreary. In Buitenzorg, all activity ceased. It was a moment of languor, of repose. The usual strident voices of the surrounding forests were suppressed, as though nature had ended her song on a high note of which but a faint echo remained. Over the Javanese city, a fog was slowly descending, a strange fog that shimmered and glowed with a 41