Crowning the heights on the outskirts of a certain town on the east coast is a large, iron water-tank from which an isolated row of small villas obtains its supply.
What caught Harcourt's eye almost immediately was a disc recorder standing near the desk, together with stacks of discs, some manifestly used, others clearly not yet touched, ready for anyone who might care to use the recorder.
How I longed to discover the secret of some perfect lens, whose magnifying power should be limited only by the resolvability of the object, and which at the same time should be free from spherical and chromatic aberrations, in short from all the obstacles over which the poor microscopist finds himself continually stumbling!
Nobody knew very much about the Sargasso area of the void; only one thing was certain: if a ship was caught there it was doomed in The Graveyard Of Space.
Without stressing the technological aspects of the strange powers of the widely-talented ones-the psis, espers, telepaths which have been so painstakingly forecast by Stapledon, van Vogt, Weinbaum, Vance and others-Messieurs Peterson and Staub have whipped fantasy, forecasts and facts into a stirring and mentally titillating story of a too-imaginative mind.
Roger Arcot explores the fringes of a really never forgotten world, the introduction to which is an aged manuscript De Necromantiae, and the wish, not too repressed, to pledge your soul to the Devil!
