Speculation as to the marked differences in pigmentation and
appearance of niece and uncle was dissipated by my consciousness that
we were now moving in a dim half-light. We were in a fairly wide
tunnel. Not far ahead the gleam filtered, pale yellow like sunlight
sifting through the leaves of autumn poplars. And as we drove closer
to its source I saw that it did indeed pass through a leafy screen
hanging over the passage end. This Rador drew aside cautiously,
beckoned us and we stepped through.
It appeared to be a tunnel cut through soft green mould. Its base was
a flat strip of pathway a yard wide from which the walls curved out in
perfect cylindrical form, smoothed and evened with utmost nicety.
Thirty feet wide they were at their widest, then drew toward each
other with no break in their symmetry; they did not close. Above was,
roughly, a ten-foot rift, ragged edged, through which poured light
like that in the heart of pale amber, a buttercup light shot through
with curiously evanescent bronze shadows.
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