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"Ask them to describe themselves," I directed. I was beginning to get an idea. Mannion sent, got his reply. "They're molluscoid, Captain," he said. He looked shocked. "They weigh about two tons each." "Ask them what they eat," I said. I turned to Joyce as Mannion worked over the message. "Get Kramer up here, on the double," I said. Kramer came in five minutes later, looking drawn and rumpled.
We are so inveterately wedded to the conceptual decomposition of life that I know that this will seem to you like putting muddiest confusion in place of clearest thought, and relapsing into a molluscoid state of mind. Yet I ask you whether the absolute superiority of our higher thought is so very clear, if all that it can find is impossibility in tasks which sense-experience so easily performs.
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