Pseudopods had sprouted from the chair's foam and wrapped around 
Hackworth's waist and upper thighs. This was fortunate as he had gone into a 
slow backward spin and soon found himself falling face-first, passing through 
great amorphous clouds of light: a collection of old chandeliers that Dramatis 
Personae had scavenged from condemned buildings. The Clown was right: Hackworth 
was definitely in free fall, a sensation that could not be faked with 
spectacles. If his eyes and ears were to be believed, he was plunging toward 
the floor of the big theatre he had reconnoitered earlier. But it was not 
grooved with neat rows
of seats like an ordinary theatre. The seats were present but scattered about 
randomly. And some of them were moving.