"Are you better now?" Arthur enquired. "I'm working alright, if that's what you mean," said the other, averting his eyes. Then he looked very hard at Rose, and the expression on his features altered to mild astonishment. "Why are you holding that other person like that?" he asked. "She's my sweetheart," Arthur replied. "You must explain that to me. I've forgotten the formula." Arthur considered. "I'm afraid it can't be explained," he murmured, "it just is." The Clockwork man winked one eye slowly, and at the same time there begun a faint spinning noise, very remote and detached. As Arthur looked at him he noticed another singularity. Down the smooth surface of the Clockwork man's face there rolled two enormous tears. They descended each cheek simultaneously, keeping exact pace. "I remember now," the mechanical voice resumed, with something like a throb in it, "all that old business--before we became _fixed_, you know. But they had to leave it out. It would have made the clock too complicated. Besides, it wasn't necessary, you see. The clock kept you going for ever. The splitting up process went out of fashion, the splitting up of yourself into little bits that grew up like you--offspring, they used to call them." Arthur dimly comprehended this. "No children," he hazarded. The Clockwork man shook his head slowly from side to side. "No children. No love--nothing but going on for ever, spinning in infinite space and knowledge." He looked directly at Arthur. "And dreaming," he added. "We dream, you know." "Yes?" Arthur murmured, interested. "The dream states," explained the Clockwork man, "are the highest point in clock evolution. They are very expensive, because it is a costly process to manufacture a dream. It's all rolled up in a spool, you see, and then you fit it into the clock and unroll it. The dreams are like life, only of course they aren't real. And then there are the records, you know, the music records. They fit into the clock as well." "But do you all have clocks?" Arthur ventured. "Are you born with them?" "We're not born," said the Clockwork man, looking vaguely annoyed, "we just are. We've remained the same since the first days of the clock." He ruminated, his forehead corrugated into regular lines. "Of course, there are the others, the _makers_, you know." "The makers?" echoed Arthur.