“Then likeness is the aim of human society?” “Call it harmony. You think of yourself only as you are now dropped into the midst of a society of dull conformists. That’s where you make your mistake. You’ll not live to see it for, if you did, you would be someone else, a part of it. No one of your disposition could possibly happen in such a society. There would be no rebellion against sameness because difference would not, in any important sense, exist, even as a proposition. You think: how terrible! but think again how wonderful it would be to belong to the pack, to the tribe, to the race, without guilt or anxiety or division.” “I cannot imagine it.” “No more can they imagine you.” “This will happen?” “Yes, and you will have been a part of it.” “Through Cave?” “Partly, yes. There will be others after him. His work in the future will be distorted by others, but that’s to be expected.” “I don’t like your future, Clarissa.” “Nor does it like you, my dear. The idea of someone who is gloomy and at odds with society, bitter and angry, separate from others ... I shouldn’t wonder but that you yourself might really be used as a perfect example of the old evil days.” “Virtue dies?” “Virtue becomes the property of the race.” “Imagination is forbidden?” “No, only channeled for the good of all.” “And this is a desirable world? the future you describe?” “Desirable for whom? For you, no. For me, not really. For the people in it? Well, yes and no. They will not question their estate but they will suffer from a collective boredom which ... but my lips are sealed. Your tea was delicious though the bread was not quite fresh; but then bachelors never keep house properly. I’ve gone on much too long; do forget everything I’ve said. I’m indiscreet. I can’t help it.” She rose, a cloud of gray suspended above the porch. I walked her across the lawn to the driveway where her car was parked. The breeze had, for the moment, died and the heat prickled me unpleasantly; my temples itched as the sweat started. “Go on with it,” she said as she got into her car. “You may as well be on the side of the future as against it. Not that it much matters anyway. When your adorable President Jefferson was in Paris he said....” But the noise of the car starting drowned the body of her anecdote. I caught only the end: “That harmony was preferable. We were all amused; I was the only one who realized that he was serious.” Dust swirled and Clarissa was gone down the drive at a great speed, keeping, I noticed, to the wrong side of the road. I hoped this was an omen. 5