My head seemed to be pulsing slowly, my entire body cold, as I watched her walking near the surf line, holding her long skirt above the sand. My confidence was at its nadir as I stood there wondering what I could possibly say to convince her it was not some madman who confronted her. I had, against all logic, hoped that the sight of her at long last would instil confidence in me. Fear that, even if I managed to accost her, her reaction would be one of distaste at my presumption. Now, the only sensation I felt was one of numbing fear that the moment wouldn’t last, that, having reached her, I’d be taken back to where I’d come from. The initial sight of her had caused a chill to flood my body, made my heartbeat leap. Under any other circumstances, I could not possibly have identified her from so little evidence. How did I know it was her? She was little more than a tiny outline moving almost imperceptibly against the dark blue background of the water. When I looked at the narrow beach again, I saw her. Only after many moments did I have the courage to open my eyes and look at the hotel again. I closed my eyes, fighting the threat of transposition. Suddenly, I had the chilling premonition that I’d walked too far that my grasp on 1896 was confined to the hotel itself and that, now, I would begin to lose hold and be drawn inexorably back to 1971.
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