The door closed. James walked across the lawn until he was quite near Magnolia. "Maggie," he whispered, reaching out to touch her trunk—smooth it was, and hard, but he could feel the vibrant life pulsing inside it. Certainly she was not a plant, not just a plant, even though she was a tree. She was a native of Elysium, neither animal nor vegetable, unique unto the planet, unique unto herself. "Maggie."
"Yes, Jim. Don't you think his silhouette is so graceful there in the moonlight? He isn't really puny—just frail."
"Maggie, you're not serious about this holly?"
"What do you mean?" And still he didn't have her full attention. Would he ever have it again?
"Serious about raising him to be your—your—"
"Why not, Jim?"
"It's impossible."
"Is it? It certainly is far more possible with him, isn't it? That much I understood from your zoology books."
"I suppose so."
"Besides, I have nothing to lose, have I?"