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All right, discerning listeners, we have something special for you.

A black little tale from the inimitable H.G. Wells.

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The Cone

by H.G. Wells The night was hot and overcast. The sky red-rimmed with the lingering sunset of midsummer.

They sat at the open window, trying to fancy the air was fresher there.

The trees and shrubs of the garden stood stiff and dark. Beyond, in the roadway, a gas lamp

burnt, bright orange against the hazy blue of the evening. Farther were the three lights of the railway signal against the lowering sky.

The man and woman spoke to one another in low tones.

...