“There are methods of secrecy,” I said.

He looked up at me and smiled. “After all,” he said, “why should one worry? There is little chance of our finding the sphere, and down below things are brewing. It’s simply the human habit of hoping till we die that makes us think of return. Our troubles are only beginning. We have shown these moon folk violence, we have given them a taste of our quality, and our chances are about as good as a tiger’s that has got loose and killed a man in Hyde Park. The news of us must be running down from gallery to gallery, down towards the central parts.⁠ ⁠… No sane beings will ever let us take that sphere back to earth after so much as they have seen of us.”

“We aren’t improving our chances,” said I, “by sitting here.”

We stood up side by side.