Hewet proceeded to think.
«The truth of it is that one never is alone, and one never is in company,» he concluded.
«Meaning?» said Hirst.
«Meaning? Oh, something about bubbles—auras—what d›you call ‹em? You can›t see my bubble; I can›t see yours; all we see of each other is a speck, like the wick in the middle of that flame. The flame goes about with us everywhere; it›s not ourselves exactly, but what we feel; the world is short, or people mainly; all kinds of people.»
«A nice streaky bubble yours must be!» said Hirst.
«And supposing my bubble could run into some one else›s bubble—»
«And they both burst?» put in Hirst.
«Then—then—then—» pondered Hewet, as if to himself, «it would be an e-nor-mous world,» he said, stretching his arms to their full width, as though even so they could
