The day the library was shut down, he thought, some maiden librarian had moved down the room, pushing each chair against its table. Carefully, with a… - Richard Matheson

He turned away from the bar as if he could leave the question there. But questions had no location; they could follow him around.

In a world of monotonous horror there could be no salvation in wild dreaming. Horror he had adjusted to. But monotony was the greater obstacle, and he realized it now, understood it at long last. And understanding it seemed to give him a sort of quiet peace, a sense of having spread all the cards on his mental table, examined them, and settled conclusively on the desired hand.

Was there a logical answer, something he could accept without slipping on banana skins of mysticism?