"Are you sure she isn't aware or becoming aware?" answered the thoughts inside the sphere. "Besides, in losing her weapons, she has lost her sensitivity, which had probably declined in acuteness through familiarity. Without microscope or telescope, a scientist would be no better able than a savage to see the germs of typhoid or the moons of Mars. His natural sensory equipment would even be inferior to that of the savage."
And the imprisoned thoughts buzzed violently, like bees seeking escape from a stopped-up hive.
"Norman," Tansy said abruptly, without looking up at him, "you found and burned that hand in your watch charm, didn't you?"
He thought a moment. "Yes, I did," he said lightly.
"I'd really forgotten about it. There were so many."
He turned a page, and then another. Thunder crackled loudly, and rain began to patter on the roof.
"Norman, you burned the diary, too, didn't you? You were right in doing it, of course. I held it back, because it didn't contain actual curses, only the formulas for them. So in a twisted illogical way I pretended it didn't count."
That was harder to answer. He felt as if he were playing a guessing game and Tansy was getting perilously "warm." The thoughts in the sphere buzzed triumphantly, "Mrs. Gunnison has the diary. Now she knows all of Tansy's protective charms."
But he answered, "Yes, I did burn it. I'm sorry, but I thought—"
"Of course," Tansy cut in. "You were quite right." Her fingers played more rapidly with the cord. She did not look down at it.