THE RAG AND BONE MEN
Unfortunate castaway! Marooned far from home—with nothing to share his loneliness but humans!
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THE OTHER ONE—CHARPANTIER, he called himself—he and I were going back up the hill to the Foundation, carrying our bags, when I happened to remark I didn’t think the Veld was sane anymore. (I call myself Maurer.)
Charpantier said nothing for a moment. We kept walking, up the gravel path between the unimaginatively clipped hedges. But he was frowning a little, and after a while he said in an absent way: “Now, how would one determine that?” He looked straight into my eyes, which is something that has always upset me, and challenged: “I don’t think one could.”
I felt the shock of inadequacy. Words come out of me—perfectly accurate words, I know; but I never k
