“It is hard”⁠—she hesitated⁠—“hard to tell this⁠—that slips through my mind⁠—because I know so little that even as the Three told it to me it passed from me for lack of place to stand upon,” she went on, quaintly. “Something there was of time when Earth and sun were but cold mists in the⁠—the heavens⁠—something of these mists drawing together, whirling, whirling, faster and faster⁠—drawing as they whirled more and more of the mists⁠—growing larger, growing warm⁠—forming at last into the globes they are, with others spinning around the sun⁠—something of regions within this globe where vast fire was prisoned and bursting forth tore and rent the young orb⁠—of one such bursting forth that sent what you call moon flying out to company us and left behind those spaces whence we now dwell⁠—and of⁠—of life particles that here and there below grew into the race of the Silent Ones, and those others⁠—but not the Akka which, like you, they say came from above⁠—and all this I do not understand⁠—do you, Goodwin?” she appealed to me.

I nodded⁠—for what she had related so fragmentarily was in reality an excellent approach to the Chamberlain-Moulton theory of a coalescing nebula contracting into the sun and its planets.