“Hunger⁠—fatigue⁠—all those things are different. Everything is different⁠—everything. To me it seems that since first we came out of the sphere has been only a question of hours⁠—long hours⁠—at most.”

“Ten days,” I said; “that leaves⁠—” I looked up at the sun for a moment, and then saw that it was halfway from the zenith to the western edge of things. “Four days!⁠ ⁠… Cavor, we mustn’t sit here and dream. How do you think we may begin?”

I stood up. “We must get a fixed point we can recognise⁠—we might hoist a flag, or a handkerchief, or something⁠—and quarter the ground, and work round that.”

He stood up beside me.

“Yes,” he said, “there is nothing for it but to hunt the sphere. Nothing. We may find it⁠—certainly we may find it. And if not⁠—”

“We must keep on looking.”