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- Филип Киндред Дик
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Attack
of
vertigo
.
Middle
-
ear
malfunction
,
no
doubt
.
He
thought
,
Diencephalon
,
ancient
brainstem
,
acting
up
.
Some
organic
momentary
breakdown
.
Think
along
reassuring
lines
.
Recall
order
of
world
.
What
to
draw
on
?
Religion
?
He
thought
,
Now
a
gavotte
perform
sedately
.
Capital
both
,
capital
both
;
you
’
ve
caught
it
nicely
.
This
is
the
style
of
thing
precisely
.
Small
form
of
recognizable
world
,
Gondoliers
.
G
.
&
S
.
He
shut
his
eyes
,
imagined
the
D
’
Oyle
Carte
Company
as
he
had
seen
them
on
their
tour
after
the
war
.
The
finite
,
finite
world
.
An
embassy
employee
,
at
his
elbow
,
saying
,
"
Sir
,
can
I
give
you
assistance
?
"
Mr
.
Tagomi
bowed
,
"
I
am
recovered
.
"
The
other
’
s
face
,
calm
,
considerate
.
No
derision
.
They
are
all
laughing
at
me
,
possibly
?
Mr
.
Tagomi
thought
.
Down
underneath
?
There
is
evil
!
It
’
s
actual
like
cement
.
I
can
’
t
believe
it
.
I
can
’
t
stand
it
.
Evil
is
not
a
view
.
He
wandered
about
the
lobby
,
hearing
the
traffic
on
Sutter
Street
,
the
Foreign
Office
spokesman
addressing
the
meeting
.
All
our
religion
is
wrong
.
What
’
ll
I
do
?
he
asked
himself
.
He
went
to
the
front
door
of
the
embassy
;
an
employee
opened
it
,
and
Mr
.
Tagomi
walked
down
the
steps
to
the
path
.
The
parked
cars
.
His
own
.
Chauffeurs
standing
.
It
’
s
an
ingredient
in
us
.
In
the
world
.
Poured
over
us
,
filtering
into
our
bodies
,
minds
,
hearts
,
into
the
pavement
itself
.
