She had never done this before, she had always been present to disturb and interrupt herself.  She had never seen the world before, except through the little glazed peepholes, called eyes, through which her everyday self rather wistfully believed that it could see.  Now, of course, she knew what seeing was, and for the first time she was aware of the real sizes of things.  Poor man measures all things by the size of his own foot.  He looks complacently at the print of his boot in the mud, and notices that the ant which he crushed was not nearly as big as his foot, therefore the ant does not matter to him.  He also notices that those same feet of his would not be able to walk to the moon within a reasonable time, therefore the moon does not matter to him.

But Sarah Brown had disappeared, and therefore could not measure anything.  The spider strode from hill to hill, with the wind rushing through the hair on his back.  The blue sky was just a lampshade, clipped on to the earth to shield it from the glare of the gods, beyond it was a mere roof of eternity, pricked with a few billion stars to keep it well ventilated.

Sarah Brown had for a while all the fun of being a god.  She was nowhere and she was everywhere.  She could have counted the hairs on David’s head.  The world waved like a flower upon a thin purple stalk of smoke....

Her eyes began to see again.  She was aware, of the hollowed tired eyes of Richard fixed upon her.  The dragon dawned once more upon her sight, it was inquisitively watching developments, while pretending to claw a weed or two out of a neighbouring bean-row.

The horizon was rusty with a rather heavy sunset.  The fields were full of twilight and empty of fairies.

Sarah Brown came to herself with a start, she was shocked to find that she had opened her mouth to say something absolutely impossible to Richard.  David’s chin was resting on her hand.  Her side felt frozen and dangerous but not painful.

“It didn’t altogether answer,” said Richard.  “I’m afraid the wrapping was a mistake.  A spell of that strength ought to have set you dancing in three minutes.  I’ll take you home on my horse.  His name is Vivian.”

The Horse Vivian, who was so white as to be almost phosphorescent in the dusk, was now further illuminated by a little red light on his breast, and a little green light on his tail.  Richard was fond of making elaborate and unnecessary arrangements like this, while neglecting to acquire skill in the more usual handicrafts.

Sarah Brown, a person of little weight, was placed astride on the back of the Horse Vivian.  Richard walked beside.  The dragon nodded good-bye, and disappeared into its home, a low tunnel-like barn, evidently built specially for it, with a door at each end, and a conveniently placed chimney which enabled it to breathe enough fire to cook its meals without suffocating itself.

Sarah Brown never saw the dragon again, but it stayed always in her memory as a puzzled soul born tragically out of its time, a shorn lamb, so to speak, to whom the wind had not been sufficiently tempered.