It was still early in the morning when Elettra brought her a letter, bearing the postmark of the city, and addressed in one of those small, clear handwritings which seem naturally to belong to scholars and students.

The upshot is, we are guided by a party of shock-headed Arcadians, who are going in the direction of the excavations, and a Megapolitan boy who has probably an eye to gain.

The spaceship needs to turn around so its retrofire rockets slow it down and put it in a lower orbit.

[…]Zeal, the blind conductor of the will;