'
'Like that, yes.' Daddy continued. 'Their light puts sympathy in you,
and only sympathy makes you lovely and--and--'
He stopped abruptly. He hesitated a moment. He was again most suddenly
aware that this strange idea that was born in him came from somewhere
else, almost from _some one_ else. It was not his own idea, nor had he
captured it completely yet. Like a wandering little inspiration from
another mind it seemed passing through him on uncertain, feathery
feet. He had suddenly lost it again. Thought wandered. He stared at
Jimbo, for Jimbo somehow seemed the channel.
The children waited, then talked among themselves. Daddy so often got
muddled and inattentive in this way. They were accustomed to it,
expected it even.
'I always love being out at night,' said Monkey, her eyes very bright;
'it sort of excites and makes me soft and happy.'
'Excuse me, Daddy, but have you been inside one? What's it like? The
Cave, I mean?' Jinny stuck to the point. She had not yet travelled
beyond it.
'It all collects in there and rises to the top like cream,' he went
on, 'and has a little tiny perfume like wild violets, and by walking
through it you get clothed and covered with it, and come out again all
soft-shiny--'
'What's soft-shiny, please?'
'Something half-primrose and half-moon.
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