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The Great God Pan

The Great God Pan 
THE EXPERIMENT
"I am glad you came, Clarke; very glad indeed. I was not sure you could spare the time."
"I was able to make arrangements for a few days; things are not very lively just now. But have
you no misgivings, Raymond? Is it absolutely safe?"
The two men were slowly pacing the terrace in front of Dr. Raymond's house. The sun still hung
above the western mountain-line, but it shone with a dull red glow that cast no shadows, and all
the air was quiet; a sweet breath came from the great wood on the hillside above, and with it, at
intervals, the soft murmuring call of the wild doves. Below, in the long lovely valley, the river
wound in and out between the lonely hills, and, as the sun hovered and vanished into the west, a
faint mist, pure white, began to rise from the hills. Dr. Raymond turned sharply to his friend.
"Safe? Of course it is. In itself the operation is a perfectly simple one; any surgeon could do it."
"And there is no danger at any other stage?"
"None; absolutely no physical danger whatsoever, I give you my word. You are always timid,
Clarke, always; but you know my history. I have devoted myself to transcendental medicine for
the last twenty years. I have heard myself called quack and charlatan and impostor, but all the
while I knew I was on the right path. Five years ago I reached the goal, and since then every day
has been a preparation for what we shall do tonight."
"I should like to believe it is all true." Clarke knit his brows, and looked doubtfully at Dr.
Raymond. "Are you perfectly sure, Raymond, that your theory is not a phantasmagoria--a
splendid vision, certainly, but a mere vision after all?"
Dr. Raymond stopped in his walk and turned sharply. He was a middle-aged man, gaunt and thin,
of a pale yellow complexion, but as he answered Clarke and faced him, there was a flush on his
cheek.
"Look about you, Clarke. You see the mountain, and hill following after hill, as wave on wave,
you see the woods and orchard, the fields of ripe corn, and the meadows reaching to the reed-
beds by the river. You see me standing here beside you, and hear my voice; but I tell you that all
these things -- yes, from that star that has just shone out in the sky to the solid ground beneath
our feet--I say that all these are but dreams and shadows; the shadows that hide the real world
from our eyes. There is a real world, but it is beyond this glamour and this vision, beyond these
'chases in Arras, dreams in a career,'beyond them all as beyond a veil. I do not know whether any
human being has ever lifted that veil; but I do know, Clarke, that you and I shall see it lifted this
very night from before another's eyes. You may think this all strange nonsense; it may be
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