as those of human language and all the intricate web of what we call its effects, without sensitive impression, without sensitive impulse: there may be, let us say, mute orations, mute rhapsodies, mute discussions, and no consciousness there even to enjoy the silence."
"Absurd!" grumbled Trost.
"The supposition is logical," said I. "It is well argued from the premises."
"Whose premises?" cried Trost, turning on me with some fierceness. "You don't mean to call them mine, I hope."
"Heaven forbid! They seem to be flying about in the air with other germs, and have found a sort of nidus among my melancholy fancies. Nobody really holds them. They bear the same relation to real belief as walking on the head for a show does to running away from an explosion or walking fast to catch the train."
