“No—gall mostly.”
“And every hive’s got a queen bee too, for that matter,” said Grimbal, rather pleased at his wit responsible for the image.
“Yes; and the queens take each other’s places quick enough, for we’re fickle brutes.”
“A strange swarm we hive in our hearts, God knows.”
“And it eats out our hearts for our pains.”
“You’ve found out that, have you?” asked John curiously.
“Long ago.”
“Everybody does, sooner or later.”
There was a pause. Overhead the multitude dwindled while the great glimmering cluster on the tree correspondingly increased, and the fierce humming of the bees was like the sound of a fire. Clement feared nothing, but he had seen few face a hiving without some distrust. The man beside him, however, stood with his hands in his pockets, indifferent and quite unprotected.
“You will be wiser to stand farther away, Mr. Grimbal. You’re unlikely to come off scot-free if you keep so close.”