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Chapter 11 — The Mooncalf Pastures

           Whennextwesawmooncalvestheyweresomelittledistanceawayfromusinaplaceoftumbledrocks.Thelessverticalsurfacesoftherockswerethickwithaspeckledgreenplantgrowingindensemossyclumps,uponwhichthesecreatureswerebrowsing.Westoppedattheedgeofthereedsamidstwhichwewerecrawlingatthesightofthem,peeringoutatthenandlookingroundforasecondglimpseofaSelenite.Theylayagainsttheirfoodlikestupendousslugs,huge,greasyhulls,eatinggreedilyandnoisily,withasortofsobbingavidity.Theyseemedmonstersofmerefatness,clumsyandoverwhelmedtoadegreethatwouldmakeaSmithfieldoxseemamodelofagility.Theirbusy,writhing,chewingmouths,andeyesclosed,togetherwiththeappetisingsoundoftheirmunching,madeupaneffectofanimalenjoymentthatwassingularlystimulatingtoouremptyframes.

           “Hogs!”saidCavor,withunusualpassion.“Disgustinghogs!”andafteroneglareofangryenvycrawledoffthroughthebushestoourright.Istayedlongenoughtoseethatthespeckledplantwasquitehopelessforhumannourishment,thencrawledafterhim,nibblingaquillofitbetweenmyteeth.

           PresentlywewerearrestedagainbytheproximityofaSelenite,andthistimewewereabletoobservehimmoreexactly.NowwecouldseethattheSelenitecoveringwasindeedclothing,andnotasortofcrustaceanintegument.

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