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Chapter 13 — Mr. Cavor Makes Some Suggestions
Ilookedup,andstoppedinmid-sentence.Thedarknesshadgivenplacetothatbluishlightagain.Thedoorwasopening,andseveralnoiselessSeleniteswerecomingintothechamber.Ibecamequitestill,staringattheirgrotesquefaces.
Thensuddenlymysenseofdisagreeablestrangenesschangedtointerest.Iperceivedthattheforemostandsecondcarriedbowls.Oneelementalneedatleastourmindscouldunderstandincommon.Theywerebowlsofsomemetalthat,likeourfetters,lookeddarkinthatbluishlight;andeachcontainedanumberofwhitishfragments.Allthecloudypainandmiserythatoppressedmerushedtogetherandtooktheshapeofhunger.Ieyedthesebowlswolfishly,and,thoughitreturnedtomeindreams,atthattimeitseemedasmallmatterthatattheendofthearmsthatloweredonetowardsmewerenothands,butasortofflapandthumb,liketheendofanelephant’strunk.Thestuffinthebowlwaslooseintexture,andwhitishbrownincolour—ratherlikelumpsofsomecoldsouffle,anditsmeltfaintlylikemushrooms.Fromapartiallydividedcarcassofamooncalfthatwepresentlysaw,Iaminclinedtobelieveitmusthavebeenmooncalfflesh.
MyhandsweresotightlychainedthatIcouldbarelycontrivetoreachthebowl;butwhentheysawtheeffortImade,twoofthemdexterouslyreleasedoneoftheturnsaboutmywrist.Theirtentaclehandsweresoftandcoldtomyskin.Iimmediatelyseizedamouthfulofthefood
