"I want you to understand," Powers declared. "We have talked of this thing many times, until it has grown to seem a simple thing. We forgot!"
"Forgot what?"
"Forgot that the continuity of life, after all, is purely physical. Behind—there is a woman slain—up there a woman created."
Trowse, for a moment, was bewildered. A searching glance into the other's face showed him that Powers was in earnest. He became contemplative.
"I am not sure that I understand you, Powers," he said slowly. "In fact, I am sure that I do not. We have watched operations together, when, to our certain knowledge, the knife has gone a little deeper, has gone a little more to the left or right, in order that some addition might be made to the sum of human knowledge. You have never blenched. We have seen men die whose lives might have been prolonged, if not altogether spared, that the race to come might benefit. Tacitly, you and I have always recognized the principle that the individual must be the servant of humanity. Therefore, as I say, I do not understand your present attitude."
"I am not sure, Trowse, that I can make you understand," Powers answered. "Only remember this: Our point of view is probably not the same. You are a materialist pure and simple. I am not!"
"Proceed!"
"In the cases which you have mentioned it is the body only which has suffered. In this case, the body has survived, but something else—has been destroyed. You know the danger which still exists."
Trowse nodded.
"Lunacy! That, of course, is a possibility."