"Why did you accuse me of laying eggs?" she asked.
Carroll turned with a smile. "A shot in the dark," he said.
"It's not true," she said. "I'm no—"
Carroll shrugged. "Anthropomorphists have spent a lot of time showing that the humanoid form is best adapted to house intelligence," he said. "The upright carriage, the evolution of the forelegs into facile hands, the placement of the sensory-system in close locale to aid one another.
"The opposing thumb and the ability to lift either a sheet of cigarette paper from the floor or a small anvil from its rest. More and deeper-involved reasons can flow than you can think about."
"Which may all be true," she said pointedly, taking a cigarette from the package and lighting it deftly. She stood up then and rotated swiftly so that her skirt swung out.
"It may all be true," he said. "But not necessarily a matter of exclusive truth. There may be a batch of intelligent octopi and I'll bet that they have ah—er—octopomorphists—sitting around telling the little octopi that their shape is best adapted to house intelligence."
"All of which answers no question," she told him with a smile.
"So you have a humanoid shape to a remarkable degree. This shape is enhanced by the Terran clothing and the Terran cosmetics and, I might add, the Terran surroundings."
"Do go on," she said with grim rumor.