Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 56 — page 37: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION “But—but you said...” He took her arm and urged her gently from the foam cushion. “Just a few more formalities at the Yard. I’m extremely sorry. Pclice procedure, you know.” Before he left he told one of his assistants to fit a spool in the voicelok that would in- form all callers that Mrs. Robt Jaksn would be away from her apartment for some weeks on a vacation. That she would be spending it in the Women’s State Prison, ' awaiting the State’s pleasure until the case was concluded, he thought it wisest to omit from the record. The fragrance of MaskAlin 90b lingered in the room long after visitors and tenant had departed. } © You'll go through the things that led up to this visit. Very, very quickly. Go. Through. Things. Visit. Quickly. Go. Through... The words were not words; and now they were not echoes, even. Each was simply a drum beat of strange and memory-stirring force that 36 pulsed about him like the beating of some cosmic heart. And he himself was no longer possessed of identity, was no more than an eye that floated in darkness; an eye that drifted on aimless cur- rents that ebbed and eddicd through deep glooms and which, at last, gently and persuasively, drew him down to where dim lights gave out a pallid radiance to illumin- ate innumerable scenes that clicked their effortless way back into the bleak emptiness - of his mind, from which—or so it seemed to him after- wards—they could never have been absent. Go. Through. Things. Visit. The drum beat. The scene: The big boy twisced. his arm savagely and made him violently aware of pain—and of more than pain; of his own inferior size and strength. He was nine years old. The other boy was ten. They were in a shelier that stood at the edge of the Academy play- ground, and it was a cold winter afternoon. The bigger boy. exerted connicloooks.conm