Tomorrow, in the full light of day, we shall take our box, and leave our tunnel open, and walk through the streets to the Home of the Scholars. We shall put before them the greatest gift ever offered to men. We shall tell them the truth. We shall hand to them, as our confession, these pages we have written. We shall join our hands to theirs, and we shall work together, with the power of the sky, for the glory of mankind. Our blessing upon you, [-or-] {+our+} brothers! Tomorrow, you will take us back into your fold and we shall be an outcast no longer. Tomorrow we shall be one of you again. Tomorrow . . . [-PART SEVEN-] {+Chapter Seven+} It is dark here in the forest. The leaves rustle over our head, black against the last gold of the sky. The moss is soft and warm. We shall sleep on this moss for many nights, till the beasts of the forest come to tear our body. We have no bed now, save the moss, and no future, save the beasts. We are old now, yet we were young this morning, when we carried our glass box through the streets of the City to the Home of the Scholars. No men stopped us, for there were none about [-from-] the Palace of Corrective Detention, and the others knew nothing. No men stopped us at the gate. We walked through {+the+} empty passages and into the great hall where the World Council of Scholars sat in solemn meeting. We saw nothing as we entered, save the sky in the great windows, blue and glowing. Then we saw the Scholars who sat around a long table; they were as shapeless clouds huddled at the rise of [-the-] {+a+} great sky. There were {+the+} men whose famous names we knew, and others from distant lands whose names we had not heard. We saw a great painting on the wall over their heads, of the twenty illustrious men who had invented the candle. All the heads of the Council turned to us as we entered. These great and wise of the earth did not know what to think of us, and they looked upon us with wonder and curiosity, as if we were a miracle. It is true that our tunic was torn and stained with brown stains which had been blood. We raised our right arm and we said: "Our greeting to you, our honored brothers of the World Council of Scholars!" Then Collective 0-0009, the oldest and wisest of the Council, spoke and asked: "Who are you, our brother? For you do not look like a Scholar." "Our name is [-Equality-] {+Equity+} 7-2521," we answered, "and we are a Street Sweeper of this City." Then [-is-] {+it+} was [-as-] if a great wind had stricken the hall, for all the Scholars spoke at once, and they were angry and frightened. "A Street Sweeper! A Street Sweeper walking in upon the World Council of Scholars! It is not to be believed! It is against all the rules and all the laws!" But we knew how to stop them.