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Snide, issue 2, February 1941
Page 7
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about this, something Astounding and Fantastic.' And the remaining seven children all skipped off and were swallowed up by the revolving mob, the greedy throng. Mr. Bengol stood alone. All alone. It was then that he thot of the fourth dimension. Could it be, he reasoned, that when you entered the dime-store, squeezed so thunderously and terrifically between those crumpling, richoceting bodies, that you were automatically pushed, sprawled and pumped into the fourth-dimension? Oh, blasphemous thot! It seared him from toe to tongue and from shoe-lace to hair-pomade. It shattered the china of his thots. Could it be that this was a fourth-dimensional dime store? He paced back and forth, waving his arms, sobbing into a small green plate he carried along for such purposes. Then, resolutely, he squared his shoulders, gave a grunt of warning, and plunged toward the store. He tore his way inside and gurbled down into extinction between two cyclopean women who were busy tearing a dress apart. At six o'clock he hadn't come out. At seven he hadn't appeared. Mr. Bengol had not appeared at nine. And at ten the dime store was shut up for the night. #
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about this, something Astounding and Fantastic.' And the remaining seven children all skipped off and were swallowed up by the revolving mob, the greedy throng. Mr. Bengol stood alone. All alone. It was then that he thot of the fourth dimension. Could it be, he reasoned, that when you entered the dime-store, squeezed so thunderously and terrifically between those crumpling, richoceting bodies, that you were automatically pushed, sprawled and pumped into the fourth-dimension? Oh, blasphemous thot! It seared him from toe to tongue and from shoe-lace to hair-pomade. It shattered the china of his thots. Could it be that this was a fourth-dimensional dime store? He paced back and forth, waving his arms, sobbing into a small green plate he carried along for such purposes. Then, resolutely, he squared his shoulders, gave a grunt of warning, and plunged toward the store. He tore his way inside and gurbled down into extinction between two cyclopean women who were busy tearing a dress apart. At six o'clock he hadn't come out. At seven he hadn't appeared. Mr. Bengol had not appeared at nine. And at ten the dime store was shut up for the night. #
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