But the dog, looking up in his face as only dogs can look, ran toward the back of the ruin, and up to him again, and back again, until he followed her.
‘What’s this? Here is a new sensation with a vengeance! O storm and cloud of material appearances, were there not enough of you already, that you must add to your number these also? Bran! Bran! Could you find no other day in the year but this, whereon to present my ears with the squeals of—one—two—three—nine blind puppies?’
Bran answered by rushing into the hole where her new family lay tumbling and squalling, bringing out one in her mouth, and laying it at his feet.
‘Needless, I assure you. I am perfectly aware of the state of the case already. What! another? Silly old thing!—do you fancy, as the fine ladies do, that burdening the world with noisy likenesses of your precious self, is a thing of which to be proud? Why, she’s bringing out the whole litter!.... What was I thinking of last? Ah—the argument was self-contradictory, was it, because I could not argue without using the very terms which I repudiated. Well.... And—why should it not be contradictory; Why not? One must face that too, after all. Why should not a thing be true and false also? What harm in a thing’s being false? What necessity for it to be true? True? What is truth? Why should a thing be the worse for being illogical? Why should there be any logic at all? Did I ever see a little beast flying about with “Logic” labelled on its back? What do I know of it, but as a sensation of my own mind—if I have any? What proof is that that I am to obey it, and not it me? If a flea bites me I get rid of that sensation; and if logic bothers me, I’ll get rid of that too. Phantasms must be taught to vanish courteously. One’s only hope of comfort lies in kicking feebly against the tyranny of one’s own boring notions and sensations—every philosopher confesses that—and what god is logic, pray, that it is to be the sole exception?.... What, old lady? I give you fair warning, you must choose this day, like any nun, between the ties of family and those of duty.’
Bran seized him by the skirt, and pulled him down towards the puppies; took up one of the puppies and lifted it towards him; and then repeated the action with another.
‘You unconscionable old brute! You don’t actually dare to expect the to carry your puppies for you?’ and he turned to go.
Bran sat down on her tail and began howling.
‘Farewell, old dog! you have been a pleasant dream after all.... But if you will go the way of all phantasms.’.... And he walked away.
Bran ran with him, leaping and barking; then recollected her family and ran back; tried to bring them, one by one, in her mouth, and then to bring them all at once; and failing sat down and howled.
‘Come, Bran! Come, old girl!’