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Chapter 8 — A Lunar Morning

           

           “Itmaybeadeadworldnow—butonce—”

           Somethingarrestedmyattention.Ihaddiscoveredamongtheseneedlesanumberoflittleroundobjects.Anditseemedtomethatoneofthesehadmoved.“Cavor,”Iwhispered.

           “What?”

           ButIdidnotansweratonce.Istaredincredulous.ForaninstantIcouldnotbelievemyeyes.Igaveaninarticulatecry.Igrippedhisarm.Ipointed.“Look!”Icried,findingmytongue.“There!Yes!Andthere!”

           Hiseyesfollowedmypointingfinger.“Eh?”hesaid.

           HowcanIdescribethethingIsaw?Itissopettyathingtostate,andyetitseemedsowonderful,sopregnantwithemotion.Ihavesaidthatamidstthestick-likelitterweretheseroundedbodies,theselittleovalbodiesthatmighthavepassedasverysmallpebbles.Andnowfirstoneandthenanotherhadstirred,hadrolledoverandcracked,anddownthecrackofeachofthemshowedaminutelineofyellowishgreen,thrustingoutwardtomeetthehotencouragementofthenewly-risensun.Foramomentthatwasall,andthentherestirred,andburstathird!

           “Itisaseed,”saidCavor.AndthenIheardhimwhisperverysoftly,“Life!”

           “Life!”Andimmediatelyitpoureduponusthatourvastjourneyhadnotbeenmadeinvain,thatwehadcometonoaridwasteofminerals,buttoaworldthatlivedandmoved!Wewatchedintensely.IrememberIkeptrubbingtheglassbeforemewithmysleeve,jealousofthefaintestsuspicionofmist.

           Thepicturewasclearandvividonlyinthemiddleofthefield.

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