The night is quietly rumbling. Snowfall and gaslight illuminate the Loop and sparks fall like hellfire on the white drifts. He is looking out the spider frosted windows of his laboratory and wondering where she is now. He looks at the quite curious cat which is all that remains of the adventure. Having received the desired attention, the cat meanders elsewhere, twining its way through the shining copper tubing of the apparatus like a blue black thread. The darkened and cracked chambers, concoctions spilled from beakers like wax from an acid candle eating into the metal leaving a verdant patina. There is an anguished squeaking as he moves his desk from the dark corner where it, and several other less savory things, were living. He places it in front of the window, even though it is cold, so he can watch the snow, perhaps it will be warm by the time the tale is done with its telling. Assuming that winter ever ends, which seems increasingly unlikely.