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Hodgson, William Hope, 1877-1918

"The House on the Borderland"

I do not think, somehow,
that I had thought of its decaying. Though, why, I could not have said.
It was not until I had meditated upon the matter, for some considerable
time, that I fully realized that the extraordinary space of time through
which it had stood, was sufficient to have utterly pulverized the very
stones of which it was built, had they been taken from any earthly
quarry. Yes, it was undoubtedly mouldering now. All the plaster had gone
from the walls; even as the woodwork of the room had gone, many
ages before.
While I stood, in contemplation, a piece of glass, from one of the
small, diamond-shaped panes, dropped, with a dull tap, amid the dust
upon the sill behind me, and crumbled into a little heap of powder. As I
turned from contemplating it, I saw light between a couple of the stones
that formed the outer wall. Evidently, the mortar was falling away....
After awhile, I turned once more to the window, and peered out. I
discovered, now, that the speed of time had become enormous.


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