Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. That would not help her. ‘I thank you. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. ‘It does not seem to me that you can be an emissary for that pig. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. It isn’t illusions—for us. Why should some things and not others open the deeps?” “Well, that might, after all, be an outcome of selection—like the preference for blue flowers, which are not nearly so bright as yellow, of some insects.
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