“Well, if you’re satisfied now it’s just because there isn’t anyone else around to give you ideas,” said Teddy suddenly. “We’re in an artificial state just now, the way people always are when they travel. When we get some place in Mexico and start getting acquainted with people, things will be complicated again for all of us.” “I can’t understand you,” Blake repeated sincerely. “I used to think that everyone knew all about things, everyone but me. I always felt like saying to older people, ‘Here, what about life? What is it like?’ I honestly thought they’d be able to tell me. Now I’m getting there myself, and I know that I have as much sense as anybody, but it isn’t much.” He put his hands behind his head and looked at the sky and was happy, in spite of the ignorance of humanity. “We ought really to have some ready-made answer to questions about life and all that,” said Teddy. “We all fool around and fool around trying to figure out an answer, and at the end we just take what we have.” “We take what we have and then we quit,” Gin said gloomily. “Whatever we have. It isn’t any better than what other people have, that’s the tragedy of it. It’s no nearer the real truth.” “What truth?” asked Blake. “Is there one?” “Oh, yes.” Gin sounded shocked. “There’s got to be truth. Why, here we are, all alive. What’s it all about, if there’s not some truth?” “It’s just an accident that we’re here. Look at us and then look at all this space. Why should we have been picked out, especially?” “I don’t say that we are, especially. I don’t mean just us, just the three of us or even the whole race. I mean the world and the universe and so forth. Why does it keep on going?” “It doesn’t have to have a personal manager,” Blake insisted. “It all runs by system. Science.” “Sure. All right. But what’s the system? Truth, of course.” “Call it God while you’re at it,” drawled Teddy, who was almost asleep. “That’s what you’re working around to, anyway. ‘Some call it Evolution’....” “I don’t mean Evolution,” said Gin scornfully. “Now you’ve got me all mixed up. I’m talking about the truth, that’s all. Things _are_ true. If I didn’t think so, I’d commit suicide. I wouldn’t even take the trouble to commit suicide, I’d just stop living.” “Well then, by all means go on believing in truth,” said Teddy placidly. “It isn’t believing,” she insisted. “It _is_ so.” “I never feel like committing suicide,” said Blake thoughtfully. “It might hurt.” “Well, that proves it,” Gin said triumphantly. “You have a standard.” “No, I haven’t. That doesn’t follow.” He stood up and stretched, Teddy said, “Of course you have. You believe in painting, don’t you? Some of it is better than the rest, isn’t it? Well then, you have standards.” “Oh, no. Those are personal preferences. What I am, not what I think. My likes and dislikes aren’t my thoughts.” “How can you decide which is you, and which is what you think?”