By Clark Ashton Smith
Released in chronological order, with vast tale and bibliographic notes, this sequence not just presents entry to tales which were out of print for years, yet provides them a ancient and social context. sequence editors Scott Conners and Ronald S. Hilger excavated the still-existing manuscripts, letters and diverse released types of the tales, making a definitive "preferred text" for Smith's complete physique of labor. This 3rd quantity of the sequence brings jointly 21 of his delusion tales.
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Additional info for A Vintage from Atlantis (The Collected Fantasies of Clark Ashton Smith, Volume 3)
I timed the distance with my arms. I did my best as well to keep it in me—to replicate the brush of every inch—so that when not on my way or treading I could read it brightly in my mind. [ The door into the man’s front hallway had a lock as large as my whole hand. The lock was darkly tarnished, as if it'd smoldered in a fire. It had numbers scratched into it, shining slits cut in the smudge. The lock jostled in its turning—it would pop a little, kind of moan. If you touched it in the right condition, and applied a certain pressure, the house would open up.
I walked. I walked. I walked. I walked. I walked. I walked straight on into that yawning. I walked head-on into the rip that ruined the birds and ate the buildings and found myself for a long time cradled only in that light. I walked. [ In that light the bevel dawning. ] [ In that light some running crud. ] [ In that light a hundred windows of someone, wherever, what. [ That light, my body, stretched to all ends. ] ] ] [ In that light I felt the floor. ] ] 35 [ In the light I made a bargain. I shook hands inside myself.
The ceiling bled to chunked gunk on the carpet. The gunk stayed on my hands thereafter. In each room beyond this one I left a little where I touched, some of me coming off with it, my itch, my stench, my cells. ] 55 [ The next room was wrong and paling—the way my skin would go in teenage winter—and then later, all year-round—days when the doors locked and I could not get them open even when I hadn’t tried. ] 56 [ The next room was made of wobble. Magnetic tape streaming from the rafters, bifurcating blonde split-ends.