"A real Time Machine."

A touch of the hand and this burning would, on the instant, beautifully reverse itself. Eckels 
remembered the wording in the advertisements to the letter. Out of chars and ashes, out of dust
and coals, like golden salamanders, the old years, the green years, might leap; roses sweeten the 
air, white hair turn Irish­black, wrinkles vanish; all, everything fly back to seed, flee death, rush 
down to their beginnings, suns rise in western skies and set in glorious easts, moons eat 
themselves opposite to the custom, all and everything cupping one in another like Chinese boxes,
rabbits into hats, all and everything returning to the fresh death, the seed death, the green death, to 
the time before the beginning. A touch of a hand might do it, the merest touch of a hand.
"Unbelievable." Eckels breathed, the light of the Machine on his thin face. "A real Time
Machine." He shook his head. "Makes you think, If the election had gone badly yesterday, I
might be here now running away from the results. Thank God Keith won. He'll make a fine 
President of the United States." 
"Yes," said the man behind the desk. "We're lucky. If Deutscher had gotten in, we'd have the 
worst kind of dictatorship. There's an anti everything man for you, a militarist, anti­Christ, anti­ human, anti­intellectual. People called us up, you know, joking but not joking. Said if Deutscher
became President they wanted to go live in 1492. Of course it's not our business to conduct 
Escapes, but to form Safaris. Anyway, Keith's President now. All you got to worry about is­" 
"Shooting my dinosaur," Eckels finished it for him.


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