Avon Murder Mystery Monthly No. 41 — page 183: what you’re looking at

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

A, MERRITT 185 grip of a paralyzing awe. I felt then as one would feel set close to’ war- ring regiments of stars, made witness to the death-throes of a universe, or swept through space and held above the whirling coils of Androme- da’s nebula to watch its birth agonies of nascent suns. _ These are no figures of speech, no hyperboles—speck as our whole planet would be in Andromeda’s vast loom, pinprick as was the Pit to the cyclone craters of our own sun, within the cliff-cupped walls of the valley was a tangible, struggling living force akin to that which dwells within the nebula and the star; a cosmic spirit transcending all dimensions and thrusting its confines out into the infinite; a sentient emanation of the infinite itself. | Nor was its voice less unearthly. It used the shell of the earth valley for its trumpetings, its clangors—but as one hears in the murmurings of the fluted conch the. great voice of ocean, its whispering and its roar- ings, so here in the clamorous shell of the Pit echoed the tremendous voices of that illimitable sea which laps the shores of the countless suns. I looked upon a mighty whirlpool miles and miles wide. It whirled with surges whose racing crests were smiting incandescences; it was threaded with a spindrift of lightnings; it was trodden by dervish mists of molten flame thrust through with forests of lances of living light. It cast a cadent spray high to the heavens. Over it the heavens glittered as though they were a shield held by fearful gods. Through the maelstrom staggered a mountainous bulk; a gleaming leviathan of pale blue metal caught in the swirling tide of some incredible volcano; a huge ark of metal breasting a deluge of flame. And the drumming we heard as of hollow beaten metal worlds, the shouting tempests of cannonading stars, was the breaking of these in- candescent crests, the falling of the lightning spindrift, the rhythmic impact of the lanced rays upon the glimmering mountain that reeled and trembled as they struck it. The reeling mountain, the struggling leviathan, was—the City! It was the mass of the Metal Monster itself, guarded by, stormed by, its own legions that though separate from it were still as much of it as were the cells that formed the skin of its walls, its carapace. It was the Metal Monster tearing, rending, fighting for, battling against—itself. Mile high as when I had first beheld it was the inexplicable body that held the great heart of the cones into which had been drawn the mag- netic cataracts from our sun; that held too the smaller hearts of the lesser cones, the workshops, the birth chamber and manifold other mys- teries unguessed and unseen. By a full fourth had its base been shrunken. Ranged in double line along the side turned toward us were hun- dreds of dread forms—Shapes that in their intensity bore down upon, ECOMC OOO (GO)