“This place, for no particular reason, is called the Hole in the Sky.”
Rags looked around her. They were on a roof-garden wide open to the April night. Overhead the true stars winked cold, and there was a lunar sliver of ice in the dark west. But where they stood it was warm as June, and the couples dining or dancing on the opaque glass floor were unconcerned with the forbidding sky.
“What makes it so warm?” she whispered as they moved toward a table.
“It’s some new invention that keeps the warm air from rising. I don’t know the principle of the thing, but I know that they can keep it open like this even in the middle of winter—”
“Where’s the Prince of Wales?” she demanded tensely.
John looked around.
“He hasn’t arrived yet. He won’t be here for about half an hour.”