As for Allison, Truggles detested a man like that. The "scientific" mind, always so sure of its own theories. Such men could not see beyond the material, into the living realm of possession and power, the struggle between good and evil.
This theory that Forsythe was a superior creature ... Truggles shivered with resentment. Man was the apex, the conqueror—the conqueror through his service to the good way, the right way, through his militant demand that things be good and right.
A superior being. Truggles trembled again, this time overwhelmed by a feeling he hated, the feeling of inferiority. It swept over him from long, long ago, that bitter night when he had stood in tears before the Brazilian, when he had implored on his knees the only woman he had ever loved.
Something small and dark scurried across the walk in front of him.
Mice, he thought. The idea that man descended from a mouse was even more repellant than that man descended from monkey. But, if evolution had any basis in fact, mice might have certain claims. They lived in human habitations, they ate human foods. Their psychology was studied in mazes, and their physical makeup made them good subjects for experimentation in human diseases.
Mice. Truggles shrugged and walked on.
Masefield Truggles had seen Blan Forsythe at a distance, walking along the streets of Marston Hill, but Forsythe's appearance at close range was a severe shock.
The tetraploid man's skin was, as Sands and Allison had described it, the deep red color and texture of liver. His hair was short, mole-gray fur over the top of his head, and his eyes were a jade green that glowed with inner fires. Truggles was a tall man, but Forsythe stood a head taller and was massively built.
Forsythe's rugged features were not repulsive, when one became accustomed to their hue. Still, Truggles could not understand how a woman could be attracted to him. But the adoration that shone from the eyes of the pretty secretary who escorted him into Forsythe's office was unmistakable.