John Wyndham

It is a difficult situation, but I hope I shall convince you. Very few men can have had the chance of convincing their great-great-great grandfathers of anything. I am now an anachronism. You see, I was born in the year A.D. 2108,—or should it be, I shall be born in 2108?—and I am—or will be—a refugee from the twenty-second century. I assure you that you will be married shortly, but I can’t remember when—I think I told you I was bad at dates.

Furthermore, this young man can’t possibly be Adams Mayhew! Why Mayhew would be nearly eighty, if he were alive today, and this man is still in his twenties.

Was Great Grandma as Good as She Made Out? See the Things Your Family History Never Told You

I sat up suddenly, feeling my legs, both of them. There wasn’t any pain. But there were two legs and two feet!

Then I did something I hadn’t let myself do in years—I burst into tears.

It is concerning Tavia, Sir Gerald—er, Mr. Lattery. I think perhaps you don’t understand the degree to which the whole situation is fraught with unpredictable consequences. It is not just my own responsibility, you understand, though that troubles me greatly—it is the results that cannot be forseen. She really must come back before very great harm is done. She must, Mr. Lattery.

Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways.