at, theoretically. But do you really
sustain your bodies on water?"

"Supposing you could find nothing else to live on, Maskull--would you
eat other men?"

"I would not."

"Neither will we eat plants and animals, which are our fellow creatures.
So nothing is left to us but water, and as one can really live on
anything, water does very well."

Maskull picked up one of the fruits and handled it curiously. As he did
so another of his newly acquired sense organs came into action. He
found that the fleshy knobs beneath his ears were in some novel fashion
acquainting him with the inward properties of the fruit. He could not
only see, feel, and smell it, but could detect its intrinsic nature.
This nature was hard, persistent and melancholy.

Joiwind answered the questions he had not asked.

"Those organs are called 'poigns.' Their use is to enable us to
understand and sympathise with all living creatures."

"What advantage do you derive from that, Joiwind?"

"The advantage of not being cruel and selfish, dear Maskull."

He threw the fruit away and flushed again.

Joiwind looked into his swarthy, bearded face without embarrassment and
slowly smiled. "Have I said too much? Have I been too familiar? Do you
know why you think so? It's because you are still impure. By and by you
will listen to all language without shame."

Before he realised what she was about to do, she threw her tentacle
round his neck, like another arm. He offered no resistance to its cool
pressure. The contact of her soft flesh with his own was so moist and
sensitive that it resembled another kind of kiss. He saw who it was that
embraced him--a pale, beautiful girl. Yet, oddly enough, he experienced
neither voluptuousness nor sexual pride. The love expressed by the
caress was rich, glowing, and personal, but there was not the least
trace of sex in it--and so he received it.

She removed her tentacle, placed her two arms on his shoulders and
penetrated with her eyes right into his very soul.

"Yes, I wish to be pure," he muttered. "Without that what can I ever be
but a weak, squirming devil?"

Joiwind released him. "This we call the 'magn,'" she said, indicating
her tentacle. "By means of it what we love already we love more, and
what we don't love at all we begin to love."

"A godlike organ!"

"It is the one we guard most jealously," said Joiwind.

The shade of the trees afforded a timely screen from the now almost
insufferable rays of Bra