The next Thursday we came again to dinner, but our host was not there. At half past seven we began to eat without him. Then the door opened slowly, and the Time Traveller came in. He was in a dreadful state. His coat was dusty and dirty, and marked with green down the sleeves; his hair was grey with dust; his face was pale, and there was a half-healed cut on his chin. He walked with a limp, like a man who has hurt his foot. We stared at him in silence. "What on earth have you been doing?" said the Doctor. He said nothing at first. He came to the table, and made a sign for wine. He drank it, and his face grew better. "Give me something to eat," he said. "I am starving. I have not eaten a bit for eight days." He ate quickly, and at last he pushed his plate away. "Now I shall tell you what has happened to me," he said, "but you must not interrupt. I need to tell it. Most of it will sound like lying."