The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us.

The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing. “It’s beautifully made,” he said.

“It seems a pity to let the dinner spoil,” said the Editor of a well-known daily paper; and thereupon the Doctor rang the bell.

Noticing that, I noticed for the first time how warm the air was.

All were clad in the same soft, and yet strong, silky material.

The Time Machine, by H. G. Wells, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here. VI. The Sunset of Mankind

I was at first inclined to associate it with the sanitary apparatus of these people. It was an obvious conclusion, but it was absolutely wrong.

Probably my shrinking was largely due to the sympathetic influence of the Eloi, whose disgust of the Morlocks I now began to appreciate.

Now I felt like a beast in a trap, whose enemy would come upon him soon.

I began to think of this house of mine, of this fireside, of some of you, and with such thoughts came a longing that was pain.

The rich had been assured of his wealth and comfort, the toiler assured of his life and work.

The fluctuating contours of the land ebbed and flowed.

“The story I told you was true. I’m sorry to have brought you out here in the cold.”

He may even now—if I may use the phrase—be wandering on some plesiosaurus-haunted Oolitic coral reef, or beside the lonely saline seas of the Triassic Age.

Quantum Computers are the closest we have come to time travel.