“This is monstrous, Joan!”
“What’s monstrous about it?” she asked, quietly. “Nothing. It isn’t. Women need children, Storm. All women, everywhere. Now that I’ve found you, I can scarcely wait to have some myself. And listen, Storm, please. Before we visit Nadine, you must make up your mind to face facts—any kind of facts—without flinching and shying away and getting mental goose-bumps all over your psyche.”
“I see what you mean. In a fully telepathic race there couldn’t be any real privacy without a continuous block, and that probably wouldn’t be very feasible.”
“No, you don’t see what I mean. You aren’t even on the right road—your whole concept is wrong. There couldn’t be any thought, even of privacy, no conception of such a thing. Think a minute! From birth—from the very birth of the whole race—full and open meetings of minds must have been the norm of thought. That kind of thing is—must be—what Nadine is accustomed to at home.”
“Hm . . . I never thought . . . you go see her, Joan, and I’ll stay home.”
“What good would that do? Whatever you may be, my dear, I know darn well you’re not stupid.”
“Not exactly stupid, maybe, but I haven’t thought this thing through the way you have . . . of course, if she’s half as good as we know she is, she’s read us both already, clear down to the footings of our foundations . . . but this thing of a full meeting of minds with anybody but you. . . .”
“You haven’t a thing to hide, you know. At least, I know, whether you do or not.”
“No? How do you figure that? Maybe you think so, but . . . I’ve tried, of course, but I’ve failed a lot oftener than I succeeded.”
“Who hasn’t? You’re not unique, my dear. Shall we go?”