. "According to Darwin, variations in general are not
infinitesimal, but in the nature of specific mutations. Thousands of
these occur, but only the fittest survive the climate, the times,
natural enemies, and their own kind, who strive to perpetuate
themselves unchanged." Taken one by one, the words were all
familiar--taken as a whole, they made no sense at all. She let the
book slip unheeded from her mind and stared at Dr. Andrews in
bewilderment.

"Try saying it in a different way."

"You sound like a school teacher humoring a stupid child." And then,
because of the habit of obedience was strong, "I guess he meant that
tails didn't grow an inch at a time, the way the dog's got cut off,
but all at once ... like a fish being born with legs as well as fins,
or a baby saber-tooth showing up among tigers with regular teeth, or
one ape in a tribe discovering he could swing down out of the treetops
and stand erect and walk alone."

He echoed her last words. "And walk alone...." A premonitory chill
traced its icy way down Lucilla's backbone. For a second she stood on
gray moss, under a gray sky, in the midst of a gray silence. "He not
only could walk alone, he had to. Do you remember what your book
said?"

"Only the fittest survive," Lucilla said numbly. "Because they have to
fight the climate ... and their natural enemies ... and their own
kind." She swung her feet to the floor and pushed herself into a
sitting position. "I'm not a ... a mutation. I'm not, I'm not, I'm
NOT, and you can't say I am, because I won't listen!"

"I didn't say you were." There was the barest hint of emphasis on the
first word. Lucilla was almost certain she heard a whisper of
laughter, but he met her gaze blandly, his expression completely
serious.

"Don't you dare laugh!" she said, nonetheless. "There's nothing funny
about ... about...."

"About being able to read people's minds," Dr Andrews said helpfully.
"You'd much rather have me offer some other explanation for the
occurrences that bother you so--is that it?"

"I guess so. Yes, it is. A brain tumor. Or schizophrenia. Or anything
at all that could maybe be cured, so I could marry Paul and have
children and be like everybody else. Like you." She looked past him to
the picture on his desk. "It's easy for you to talk."

He ignored the last statement. "Why can't you get married, anyway?"

"You've already said why. Because Paul would hate me--everybody would
hate me--if they knew I w