"How do you do it?"
"I don't know. You must watch people's eyes; then you'll find the expression is always changing, never the same for two minutes in succession—you just see."
"I'm hanged if I do."
"Your eyes must be quick. Look here, you're walking along in evening dress, and I throw a lump of mud on to your shirt front. In a fraction of a second you hit me over the head with your cane. That's all, isn't it? But you know it isn't all; there are a dozen mental processes between the mud-throwing and the head-hitting. You're horror-stricken at the mess I've made of your shirt, you wonder if you'll have time to go back and change into a clean one, and if so, how late you'll be. You're annoyed that any one should throw mud at you, you're flabbergasted that I should be the person. You're impotently angry. Gradually a desire for revenge overcomes every other feeling; you're going to hurt me. A little thought springs up, and you wonder whether I shall summon you for assault; you decide to risk it Another little thought—will you hit me on the body or the head? You decide the head because it'll hurt more. Still another thought—how hard to hit? You don't want to kill me and you don't want to make me blind. You decide to be on the safe side and hit rather gently. Then—then at last you're ready with the cane. Is that right?"
I thought it over very carefully.
"I suppose so. But no one can see those thoughts succeeding each other. There isn't time."
The Seraph shook his head in polite contradiction.
"The same sort of thing was said when instantaneous photography was introduced. You got pictures of horses galloping, and people solemnly assured you it was physically impossible for horses' legs to get into such attitudes."
"How do you account for it?" I asked.
"Don't know. Eyes different from other people's, I suppose."