They say that a stone will drop sixteen feet in the first second,
thirty-two in the next, and so on. We made far better time than that.
The wind had hit the windmill, and she was reeling us back into the well
to the very best of her ability.

Before I could draw breath we flashed to the level of the earth, down
through the mouth of the well, and on down into the white-tiled twilight.

My observations ceased at that point. A gurgling shriek came from Hawkins.
Then a splash.

My nether limbs turned icy cold, next my body and shoulders, and then
cracked ice seemed to fill my ears, and I still clung to the ladder, and
prayed fervently.

For a time I descended through roaring, swirling water. Then my feet
were wrenched from their hold, and for a moment I hung downward by my
hands alone. Still I clung tightly, and wondered dimly why I seemed to
be going up again. Not that it mattered much, for I had given up hope
long ago, but still I wondered.

And then, still clutching the ladder with a death-grip, with Hawkins
kicking about above me, out of the water I shot, and up the well once
more. An instant of the half-light, the flash of the sun again--and I
hurled myself away from the ladder.

I landed on the grass. Hawkins landed on me. Soaking wet, breathless,
dazed, we sat up and stared at each other.