Yet, to me, aeons elapsed between the first tap of his knuckle and the last.

No longer could I tread my starry path with that ineffable pristine joy, for my way was beset with dread of the inevitable summons that would rip and tear me as it jerked me back to my strait-jacket hell.

Thus my aeons of star-wandering were aeons of dread.
And all the time I knew it was Ed Morrell's knuckle that thus cruelly held me earth-bound.

I tried to speak to him, to ask him to cease.

But so thoroughly had I eliminated my body from my consciousness that I was unable to resurrect it.