Марсианские хроники

           Incoffinsforthenotdeadandnotalive,inplankedboxes,themetronomeswaitedtobesetinmotion.Therewasasmelloflubricationandlathedbrass.Therewasasilenceofthetombyard.Sexedbutsexless,therobots.Namedbutunnamed,andborrowingfromhumanseverythingbuthumanity,therobotsstaredatthenailedlidsoftheirlabeledF.O.B.boxes,inadeaththatwasnotevenadeath,fortherehadneverbeenalife.Andnowtherewasavastscreamingofyankednails.Nowtherewasaliftingoflids.Nowtherewereshadowsontheboxesandthepressureofahandsquirtingoilfromacan.Nowoneclockwassetinmotion,afaintticking.Nowanotherandanother,untilthiswasanimmenseclockshop,purring.Themarbleeyesrolledwidetheirrubberlids.Thenostrilswinked.Therobots,clothedinhairofapeandwhiteofrabbit,arose:TweedledumfollowingTweedledee,Mock-Turtle,Dormouse,drownedbodiesfromtheseacompoundedofsaltandwhiteweed,swaying;hangingblue-throatedmenwithturned-up,clam-flesheyes,andcreaturesoficeandburningtinsel,loam-dwarfsandpepper-elves,Tik-tok,Ruggedo,St.Nicholaswithaself-madesnowflurryblowingonbeforehim,Bluebeardwithwhiskerslikeacetyleneflame,andsulphurcloudsfromwhichgreenfiresnoutsprotruded,and,inscalyandgiganticserpentine,adragonwithafurnaceinitsbellyreeledoutthedoorwithascream,atick,abellow,asilence,arush,awind.Tenthousandlidsfellback.TheclockshopmovedoutintoUsher.Thenightwasenchanted.

           Awarmbreezecameovertheland.