“We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector. I hoped for a family like the Becks and I waded through the system until I got them, so maybe life isn’t so damn hopeless after all. ‘What are the chances, do you think, of that thing being already cocked?’ ‘Probably not even loaded,’ suggested Hilary hopefully. Mere hangers on. Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience.
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