"Suppose you have? You haven't—and you know it."
"I wouldn't say that."
"I would. You're just experimenting." Sandra's lip curled over her perfect teeth in a perfect sneer. "Experimenting on your own kind. And I'm no better. You should hate me—and I'm beginning to hate you and every one of you."
"This must go on—"
"It'll go on without me."
"Come on, Sandrake. Buck up. Here, I'll give you a sedative and you sleep for an hour. You're over-tired. Then—"
"Then nothing. I can't go on murdering your people any more."
"It's not murder. It's—"
"It's worse than murder. You go on filling them with colored water and telling them that you think that this is the works—and you know it is just another blind try! Go away!" Sandra whirled and ran blindly. Across the field she ran, out and away from the village. On and on she ran, until she fell breathless beside a small brook.
Thankfully, she dabbled in the brook with her tired feet, and laved the cool water on her wrists and forehead. She drank sparingly, and then stretched on her back to relieve the strained muscles that seemed to make her back arch almost to the breaking point.