No, we had not been daydreaming: here was the looming proof of the Plan. But soon the Tower would realize that I was the spy, the enemy, the grain of sand in the gear system it served, soon it would imperceptibly dilate a diamond window in that lace of lead and swallow me, grab me in a fold of its hyperspace, and put me Elsewhere.
Casaubon grows disquieted while escaping an orgiastic night of murder by the Diabolicals and has already acquiesced to death by no longer resisting their conspiracy theories and ways of thinking, a method that promises death and lack of fulfillment in the end.
