My mind settled down to the question of my chains. If I were to slip off one turn so, and then to twist it so . . .
If I tried to do it very gradually, would they see I was slipping my wrist out of the looser turn? If they did, what would they do?
"Bedford," said Cavor, "it goes down. It keeps on going down."
His remark roused me from my sullen preoccupation.
"If they wanted to kill us," he said, dropping back to come level with me, "there is no reason why they should not have done it."
"No," I admitted, "that's true."
"They don't understand us," he said, "they think we are merely strange animals, some wild sort of mooncalf birth, perhaps. It will be only when they have observed us better that they will begin to think we have minds———"
"When you trace those geometrical problems," said I.
"It may be that."
We tramped on for a space.
"You see," said Cavor, "these may be Selenites of a lower class."
"The infernal fools!" said I viciously, glancing at their exasperating faces.
