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    Out of the Silent Planet
    Out of the Silent Planet
    Out of the Silent Planet
    Ebook206 pages4 hours

    Out of the Silent Planet

    By C. S. Lewis

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    In Out of the Silent Planet, the first book of C.S. Lewis' celebrated Space Trilogy, two men, Devine and Weston, capture a third, Ransom, and take him to the planet of Malacandra via a space craft. When Ransom learns that the men plan to sacrifice him to the strange planet's inhabitants, he escapes on foot. Lewis' descriptions of the otherworldly land of Malacandra are captivating, as well as his descriptions of Ransom's learning of the native language of the Hrossa and Sorns, the inhabitants of Malacandra. Ransom comes to realize that these beings have far different plans for him than he ever could have guessed.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreamscape Media
    Release dateMay 8, 2018
    ISBN9781974908516
    Out of the Silent Planet
    Author

    C. S. Lewis

    Clive Staples Lewis (1898-1963) was one of the intellectual giants of the twentieth century and arguably one of the most influential writers of his day. He was a Fellow and Tutor in English Literature at Oxford University until 1954, when he was unanimously elected to the Chair of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge University, a position he held until his retirement. He wrote more than thirty books, allowing him to reach a vast audience, and his works continue to attract thousands of new readers every year. His most distinguished and popular accomplishments include Out of the Silent Planet, The Great Divorce, The Screwtape Letters, and the universally acknowledged classics The Chronicles of Narnia. To date, the Narnia books have sold over 100 million copies and have been transformed into three major motion pictures. Clive Staples Lewis (1898-1963) fue uno de los intelectuales más importantes del siglo veinte y podría decirse que fue el escritor cristiano más influyente de su tiempo. Fue profesor particular de literatura inglesa y miembro de la junta de gobierno en la Universidad Oxford hasta 1954, cuando fue nombrado profesor de literatura medieval y renacentista en la Universidad Cambridge, cargo que desempeñó hasta que se jubiló. Sus contribuciones a la crítica literaria, literatura infantil, literatura fantástica y teología popular le trajeron fama y aclamación a nivel internacional. C. S. Lewis escribió más de treinta libros, lo cual le permitió alcanzar una enorme audiencia, y sus obras aún atraen a miles de nuevos lectores cada año. Sus más distinguidas y populares obras incluyen Las Crónicas de Narnia, Los Cuatro Amores, Cartas del Diablo a Su Sobrino y Mero Cristianismo.

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    Reviews for Out of the Silent Planet

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    • 3/5
      Good, but too old-fashioned and slow. If I were on a deserted island with no other books read, I'd enjoy it.
    • 3/5
      Overall, I will definitely be interested in obtaining the other two novels in this series, but I was not in love with the story as I have been with Narnia.
    • 2/5
      You ever start a book and it seems to hold great promise, so much promise that you'll know you will finish it and in a small part feel that you've obtained something positive from your reading of it?This novel by the reknown Mr. Lewis isn't it. It falls short because it stays so wrapped with description that it could very well be a description exercise in a high school creative writing class; this exhaustive description is needlessly spent, which is perhaps a good thing because once that's been exhausted or seems to be, Lewis introduces life forms with imaginative names, customs, and language--but these names all tend to become bogged down to the point of being partially indistinct--and slows the plot down to the point of feeling indifferent and garbled and finally, stagnant--which would explain why I didn't finish it even though it's a short book.ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
    • 3/5
      I read the Narnia series in 4th grade and again in my mid 20s before I gave them all to my nephew. I've read some of Lewis' more "adult" works, [The Screwtape Letters] and more recently, [The Great Divorce]. This book (and I'm guessing the trilogy) seems to be a bridge between those works. Unfortunately, it didn't hold my imagination the way Narnia did. I felt it concentrated more on landscape than on characters and in the case of the main character, I didn't feel he was believable. The depth found in his other books also wasn't there. I'm still going to give the others in the trilogy a chance at some point since I've enjoyed Lewis' work up to this point, but I'm in no rush to do so.
    • 5/5
      I love this book. I have read it many, many times and the part that really stands out in my memory is when one of the creatures from Malacandra explains to the protagonist that it is not normal (it is bent) to wish to relive a period of time over and over again. Each part of a lifetime is a wonderful and unique thing and we should enjoy every second and not long to relive what is past.
    • 4/5
      It is true that C.S. Lewis includes Christian overtones in his writing and this book is no different. However, it is not preachy or overpowering and even a non-religious person can read this book without feeling that they are being proselytized. The writing style is classic and flawless in a way which is rarely seen today. Some aspects of the story do not stand the test of time- such as the presence of civilizations on mars. Such problems do not necessarily destroy a work of science fiction and I was able to look past this minor point. War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells is no less of a good read today just because we now know there does not seem to be complex life on Mars and it does not affect this story either. I enjoyed the book and its message.
    • 3/5
      I'm more familiar with C.S. Lewis as the writer of children's books. This is the first book of his I have read for adults. It held my interest and his descriptions of leaving earth and life on another planet are worth reading it. Where the story lacks some for me is in the characters of the aliens. They were interesting but not engaging; it was hard to imagine them as real. I find this odd because in his children's books there are many characters that are not humans and I did not have the same trouble with them. However, it is worth the read for the plot and the stellar descriptions of life in space and on an alien world.
    • 5/5
      Very good, though his musings on the connectivedness of the world are interesting - you can tell that he is Christian, but he's trying to fuse science with Christianity in a time really when there wasn't even a whole lot of resentment between the two. His narration is strange - every once in a while the "I" narrator breaks in, breaking the flow of the story so he seems godlike, but at times not seemingly very important to the overall cohesiveness of the story. at the end we find out Ransom is telling all this to a buddy after finding the word Oyarsa in ancient texts so it all comes out as there is basis, and the last few pages seem like a justificaiton for the entire tale - that it is indeed true and why it was at first presented as fiction.
    • 1/5
      Narnia for adults. Man goes to space with cartoon villain and meets up with god. Also, how can he hear silent 'H'?
    • 5/5
      Eerie. That's the best word to describe Out of the Silent Planet. Lewis creates a world that is in stark contrast to his Narnia. It is a strange and mysterious place, and like the protagonist, we soon discover how insignificant Earth is to the other intelligent inhabitants of the universe. The story would be regarded as science fantasy today, but it remains one of the best examples of classic science fiction.
    • 4/5
      Dr. Ransom is a Cambridge philologist who inadvertently runs into two old classmates from his school days. He never really liked them and with good reason. He likes them even less when they drug and kidnap him and take him for a cruise across the universe in a spaceship. They end up on the planet of Malacandra where Ransom is to be sacrificed to one of the alien creatures. Lewis tells this story as though the reader is sitting across from him beside a roaring fire. He describes Ransom's journey and reactions to this foreign new world as oddly detached and strangely calm. Probably the most interesting part to the whole story is how Ransom relates to his new world. He almost takes to it better than his own.
    • 4/5
      A really delightful early science fiction book. One of the things I loved was the way Lewis explains Mars' surface features using what little was known about the surface in 1938. His descriptions of space travel and arrival on an alien planet are quaint and improbable, but he seems to have tried to base his writing on scientific fact as he perceived it then. I really enjoyed the book and will try to find the other two in the trilogy to read.
    • 5/5
      Out of the Silent Planet saw our hero (although you wouldn't think of him as such at first) kidnapped and taken to a planet called Malacandra (to inhabitants of Tellus or Earth this would be Mars). He escapes his captors and on his journey across this entirely foreign land where he meets the planet's inhabitants, learns their language (he's a philologist), and adapts to their way of living we discover there's mischief afoot. This isn't simply an exploratory mission for his captors. One is determined to make riches from the planet's precious stones while the other seeks to find a new world for humanity to inhabit. What will Ransom do to stop them?
    • 3/5
      Arthur Ransom goes to Mars, we don't know quite how, and there he meets the inhabitants. This is the beginning of an exploration of life on earth but far more on the religious side than many other works. It is literate, and sincere in its questions. you don't find straw men here, to be easily knocked over.
    • 3/5
      This book was quite bizarre. I don't read much sci-fi generally. My husband says it is the least bizarre of the trilogy, so i doubt I'll read later books in the series at this point.
    • 2/5
      On Feb 25, 1947, I said: "Started reading queer book: Out of the Silent Planet." I finished it the next day but made no further comment.
    • 4/5
      C. S. Lewis' first book in his sci-fi trilogy is a very well-written piece of, what on first glance is, pulp fiction, but what makes it special is its theological backdrop and extensive elements of mediaeval fiction. Powerfully imagined, this first book sets the scene for further explorations in Lewis' unique cosmology and is a good read for both fans of sci-fi and Lewis' work. I am anticipating reading the next two books.
    • 4/5
      I really loved this book. Lewis is well-known for his Christian allegory, of which this book is another example, but his imagination works very well in science fiction. Ransom is a likable and inspiring character, who guides us along a noble path through the incredible world of Malacandra. I've found that many of Lewis' books have periods where they seem to drag, but I have always found it worthwhile to keep reading!
    • 4/5
      The first half is interesting if a little dated. The second half makes up for the dated sci-fi setting by a really interesting philosophical look at the spiritual realm of Earth from an otherwordly perspective.
    • 2/5
      I can only hope that the trilogy gets better. Far too much description for me and far too little in the way of character development and interaction.
    • 5/5
      Quick review: Really enjoyed this one. Reminded me of Wells' and Verne's work, which I also enjoy reading. As we know, there is influence from those earlier writers in this book, but I like how Lewis took the story beyond that to be his own thing. There's only a small similarity in the beginning of it. I know Lewis is better known for his Narnia books, but I'm happy with reading this one (and soon the other two) before those. I think these are more to my liking in genre than those and probably a better introduction to Lewis' work.

      Great sci-fi, with a good account of a first encounter and sprinkled with some religious ideas about the makeup of the universe.
    • 3/5
      Dr. Ransom, philologist, is kidnapped and taken to a different planet called Malacandra by two greedy men, one who is greedy for gold and the other to take over this planet for mankind. Ransom overhears a conversation on the spaceship, so makes his escape at the first opportune moment. He is befriended by a sapient life form and begins to learn the language and culture of the hrossa until trouble ensues.

      CS Lewis, unlike most scifi writers, writes from the premise that God and angels exist but that evolution doesn't, which puts a very different spin on this book as compared with books by authors such as Arthur C. Clarke.

      I was somewhat ambivalent about much of this book as we know so much more about our nearby planets as compared with when this book was written. However, there were some redeeming qualities to this book despite it's lack of plausibility, such as the questions of what make us essentially sapient beings ruled by spirit beings (or even just what those beings are, so I'm giving it a 3, even though over all it is just so-so to me. At this point I don't plan to read the sequels.
    • 5/5
      Science fiction from the mid-20th century. Dr Ransom is drugged and taken to another planet. A lovely and thought-provoking book, which despite being dated is very enjoyable.
    • 4/5
      Didn't know if I would like si-fi but really enjoyed how Lewis treated the characters.
    • 4/5
      Great early SF writing from the 40's by an author known far more for his Christian apologist writings and his Narnia series (which is pretty much an apologia itself). One of my favorite authors.Funny, started reading the second in the series immediately upon finishing this, lost it in a train station, and never replaced it to finish reading. Would like to finish the series someday.
    • 5/5
      This is the first of three novels Lewis writes and this first one is just as good as the second one is bad. Ransom is the protagonist who is captured by two evil men ("bent" is the word used ehrein and I like that!) and taken to Melcandria (Mars). He escapes from Weston and Devine and meets all three races of the planet, beginning with a walrus-looking fellow who takes Ransom home and tgeaches the earthman his language. Then he is introduced to a sorn who is commissioned by the Martian superviso/God/spirit to bring Ransom to see him. There are other creatures in the book, too, with unpronouncable names and unseeable bodies. Just wonderfully imaginative and spiritually interesting. Of course it would have to be with C. S. Lewis, a student and don of ChristChurch writing it, n'est-ce pas?
    • 3/5
      Odd but engaging - written with a higher content of knowledge than current fiction.
    • 3/5
      The first volume of Lewis's Space Trilogy. It stand on its own, but really works best to set up the next two volumes. To my mind, this is the weakest link of the three.
    • 5/5
      I have read CS Lewis space trilogy at least 3 times! Each time I have favorited a different book. I will be reading this again.
    • 5/5
      Mesmerizing

    Book preview

    Out of the Silent Planet - C. S. Lewis

    Chapter 1

    The last drops of the thundershower had hardly ceased falling when the Pedestrian stuffed his map into his pocket, settled his pack more comfortably on his tired shoulders, and stepped out from the shelter of a large chestnut-tree into the middle of the road. A violent yellow sunset was pouring through a rift in the clouds to westward, but straight ahead over the hills the sky was the colour of dark slate. Every tree and blade of grass was dripping, and the road shone like a river. The Pedestrian wasted no time on the landscape but set out at once with the determined stride of a good walker who has lately realized that he will have to walk farther than he intended. That, indeed, was his situation. If he had chosen to look back, which he did not, he could have seen the spire of Much Nadderby, and, seeing it, might have uttered a malediction on the inhospitable little hotel which, though obviously empty, had refused him a bed. The place had changed hands since he last went for a walking-tour in these parts. The kindly old landlord on whom he had reckoned had been replaced by someone whom the barmaid referred to as ‘the lady,’ and the lady was apparently a British innkeeper of that orthodox school who regard guests as a nuisance. His only chance now was Sterk, on the far side of the hills, and a good six miles away. The map marked an inn at Sterk. The Pedestrian was too experienced to build any very sanguine hopes on this, but there seemed nothing else within range.

    He walked fairly fast, and doggedly, without looking much about him, like a man trying to shorten the way with some interesting train of thought. He was tall, but a little round-shouldered, about thirty-five to forty years of age, and dressed with that particular kind of shabbiness which marks a member of the intelligentsia on a holiday. He might easily have been mistaken for a doctor or a schoolmaster at first sight, though he had not the man-of-the-world air of the one or the indefinable breeziness of the other. In fact, he was a philologist, and fellow of a Cambridge college. His name was Ransom.

    He had hoped when he left Nadderby that he might find a night’s lodging at some friendly farm before he had walked as far as Sterk. But the land this side of the hills seemed almost uninhabited. It was a desolate, featureless sort of country mainly devoted to cabbage and turnip, with poor hedges and few trees. It attracted no visitors like the richer country south of Nadderby and it was protected by the hills from the industrial areas beyond Sterk. As the evening drew in and the noise of the birds came to an end it grew more silent than an English landscape usually is. The noise of his own feet on the metalled road became irritating.

    He had walked thus for a matter of two miles when he became aware of a light ahead. He was close under the hills by now and it was nearly dark, so that he still cherished hopes of a substantial farmhouse until he was quite close to the real origin of the light, which proved to be a very small cottage of ugly nineteenth-century brick. A woman darted out of the open doorway as he approached it and almost collided with him.

    ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ she said. ‘I thought it was my Harry.’

    Ransom asked her if there was any place nearer than Sterk where he might possibly get a bed.

    ‘No, sir,’ said the woman. ‘Not nearer than Sterk. I dare say as they might fix you up at Nadderby.’

    She spoke in a humbly fretful voice as if her mind were intent on something else. Ransom explained that he had already tried Nadderby.

    ‘Then I don’t know, I’m sure, sir,’ she replied. ‘There isn’t hardly any house before Sterk, not what you want. There’s only The Rise, where my Harry works, and I thought you was coming from that way, sir, and that’s why I come out when I heard you, thinking it might be him. He ought to be home this long time.’

    ‘The Rise,’ said Ransom. ‘What’s that? A farm? Would they put me up?’

    ‘Oh no, sir. You see there’s no one there now except the Professor and the gentleman from London, not since Miss Alice died. They wouldn’t do anything like that, sir. They don’t even keep any servants, except my Harry for doing the furnace like, and he’s not in the house.’

    ‘What’s this professor’s name?’ asked Ransom, with a faint hope.

    ‘I don’t know, I’m sure, sir,’ said the woman. ‘The other gentleman’s Mr. Devine, he is, and Harry says the other gentleman is a professor. He don’t know much about it, you see, sir, being a little simple, and that’s why I don’t like him coming home so late, and they said they’d always send him home at six o’clock. It isn’t as if he didn’t do a good day’s work either.’

    The monotonous voice and the limited range of the woman’s vocabulary did not express much emotion, but Ransom was standing sufficiently near to perceive that she was trembling and nearly crying. It occurred to him that he ought to call on the mysterious professor and ask for the boy to be sent home: and it occurred to him just a fraction of a second later that once he were inside the house—among men of his own profession—he might very reasonably accept the offer of a night’s hospitality. Whatever the process of thought may have been, he found that the mental picture of himself calling at The Rise had assumed all the solidity of a thing determined upon. He told the woman what he intended to do.

    ‘Thank you very much, sir, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘And if you would be so kind as to see him out of the gate and on the road before you leave, if you see what I mean, sir. He’s that frightened of the Professor and he wouldn’t come away once your back was turned, sir, not if they hadn’t sent him home themselves like.’

    Ransom reassured the woman as well as he could and bade her good-bye, after ascertaining that he would find The Rise on his left in about five minutes. Stiffness had grown upon him while he was standing still, and he proceeded slowly and painfully on his way.

    There was no sign of any lights on the left of the road—nothing but the flat fields and a mass of darkness which he took to be a copse. It seemed more than five minutes before he reached it and found that he had been mistaken. It was divided from the road by a good hedge and in the hedge was a white gate: and the trees which rose above him as he examined the gate were not the first line of a copse but only a belt, and the sky showed through them. He felt quite sure now that this must be the gate of The Rise and that these trees surrounded a house and garden. He tried the gate and found it locked. He stood for a moment undecided, discouraged by the silence and the growing darkness. His first inclination, tired as he felt, was to continue his journey to Sterk: but he had committed himself to a troublesome duty on behalf of the old woman. He knew that it would be possible, if one really wanted, to force a way through the hedge. He did not want to. A nice fool he would look, blundering in upon some retired eccentric—the sort of a man who kept his gates locked in the country—with this silly story of a hysterical mother in tears because her idiot boy had been kept half an hour late at his work! Yet it was perfectly clear that he would have to get in, and since one cannot crawl through a hedge with a pack on, he slipped his pack off and flung it over the gate. The moment he had done so, it seemed to him that he had not till now fully made up his mind—now that he must break into the garden if only in order to recover the pack. He became very angry with the woman, and with himself, but he got down on his hands and knees and began to worm his way into the hedge.

    The operation proved more difficult than he had expected and it was several minutes before he stood up in the wet darkness on the inner side of the hedge smarting from his contact with thorns and nettles. He groped his way to the gate, picked up his pack, and then for the first time turned to take stock of his surroundings. It was lighter on the drive than it had been under the trees and he had no difficulty in making out a large stone house divided from him by a width of untidy and neglected lawn. The drive branched into two a little way ahead of him—the right-hand path leading in a gentle sweep to the front door, while the left ran straight ahead, doubtless to the back premises of the house. He noticed that this path was churned up into deep ruts—now full of water—as if it were used to carrying a traffic of heavy lorries. The other, on which he now began to approach the house, was overgrown with moss. The house itself showed no light: some of the windows were shuttered, some gaped blank without shutter or curtain, but all were lifeless and inhospitable. The only sign of occupation was a column of smoke that rose from behind the house with a density which suggested the chimney of a factory, or at least of a laundry, rather than that of a kitchen. The Rise was clearly the last place in the world where a stranger was likely to be asked to stay the night, and Ransom, who had already wasted some time in exploring it, would certainly have turned away if he had not been bound by his unfortunate promise to the old woman.

    He mounted the three steps which led into the deep porch, rang the bell, and waited. After a time he rang the bell again and sat down on a wooden bench which ran along one side of the porch. He sat so long that though the night was warm and starlit the sweat began to dry on his face and a faint chilliness crept over his shoulders. He was very tired by now, and it was perhaps this which prevented him from rising and ringing the third time: this, and the soothing stillness of the garden, the beauty of the summer sky, and the occasional hooting of an owl somewhere in the neighbourhood which seemed only to emphasize the underlying tranquillity of his surroundings. Something like drowsiness had already descended upon him when he found himself startled into vigilance. A peculiar noise was going on—a scuffling, irregular noise, vaguely reminiscent of a football scrum. He stood up. The noise was unmistakable by now. People in boots were fighting or wrestling or playing some game. They were shouting too. He could not make out the words but he heard the monosyllabic barking ejaculations of men who are angry and out of breath. The last thing Ransom wanted was an adventure, but a conviction that he ought to investigate the matter was already growing upon him when a much louder cry rang out in which he could distinguish the words, ‘Let me go. Let me go,’ and then, a second later, ‘I’m not going in there. Let me go home.’

    Throwing off his pack, Ransom sprang down the steps of the porch, and ran round to the back of the house as quickly as his stiff and footsore condition allowed him. The ruts and pools of the muddy path led him to what seemed to be a yard, but a yard surrounded with an unusual number of outhouses. He had a momentary vision of a tall chimney, a low door filled with red firelight, and a huge round shape that rose black against the stars, which he took for the dome of a small observatory: then all this was blotted out of his mind by the figures of three men who were struggling together so close to him that he almost cannoned into them. From the very first Ransom felt no doubt that the central figure, whom the two others seemed to be detaining in spite of his struggles, was the old woman’s Harry. He would like to have thundered out, ‘What are you doing to that boy?’ but the words that actually came—in rather an unimpressive voice—were, ‘Here! I say! . . .’

    The three combatants fell suddenly apart, the boy blubbering. ‘May I ask,’ said the thicker and taller of the two men, ‘who the devil you may be and what you are doing here?’ His voice had all the qualities which Ransom’s had so regrettably lacked.

    ‘I’m on a walking-tour,’ said Ransom, ‘and I promised a poor woman—’

    ‘Poor woman be damned,’ said the other. ‘How did you get in?’

    ‘Through the hedge,’ said Ransom, who felt a little ill-temper coming to his assistance. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing to that boy, but—’

    ‘We ought to have a dog in this place,’ said the thick man to his companion, ignoring Ransom.

    ‘You mean we should have a dog if you hadn’t insisted on using Tartar for an experiment,’ said the man who had not yet spoken. He was nearly as tall as the other, but slender, and apparently the younger of the two, and his voice sounded vaguely familiar to Ransom.

    The latter made a fresh beginning. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what you are doing to that boy, but it’s long after hours and it is high time you sent him home. I haven’t the least wish to interfere in your private affairs, but—’

    ‘Who are you?’ bawled the thick man.

    ‘My name is Ransom, if that is what you mean. And—’

    ‘By Jove,’ said the slender man, ‘not Ransom who used to be at Wedenshaw?’

    ‘I was at school at Wedenshaw,’ said Ransom.

    ‘I thought I knew you as soon as you spoke,’ said the slender man. ‘I’m Devine. Don’t you remember me?’

    ‘Of course. I should think I do!’ said Ransom as the two men shook hands with the rather laboured cordiality which is traditional in such meetings. In actual fact Ransom had disliked Devine at school as much as anyone he could remember.

    ‘Touching, isn’t it?’ said Devine. ‘The far-flung line even in the wilds of Sterk and Nadderby. This is where we get a lump in our throats and remember Sunday-evening Chapel in the D.O.P. You don’t know Weston, perhaps?’ Devine indicated his massive and loud-voiced companion. ‘The Weston,’ he added. ‘You know. The great physicist. Has Einstein on toast and drinks a pint of Schrödinger’s blood for breakfast. Weston, allow me to introduce my old schoolfellow, Ransom. Dr. Elwin Ransom. The Ransom, you know. The great philologist. Has Jespersen on toast and drinks a pint—’

    ‘I know nothing about it,’ said Weston, who was still holding the unfortunate Harry by the collar. ‘And if you expect me to say that I am pleased to see this person who has just broken into my garden, you will be disappointed. I don’t care twopence what school he was at nor on what unscientific foolery he is at present wasting money that ought to go to research. I want to know what he’s doing here: and after that I want to see the last of him.’

    ‘Don’t be an ass, Weston,’ said Devine in a more serious voice. ‘His dropping in is delightfully apropos. You mustn’t mind Weston’s little way, Ransom. Conceals a generous heart beneath a grim exterior, you know. You’ll come in and have a drink and something to eat of course?’

    ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Ransom. ‘But about the boy—’

    Devine drew Ransom aside. ‘Balmy,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Works like a beaver as a rule but gets these fits. We are only trying to get him into the wash-house and keep him quiet for an hour or so till he’s normal again. Can’t let him go home in his present state. All done by kindness. You can take him home yourself presently if you like—and come back and sleep here.’

    Ransom was very much perplexed. There was something about the whole scene suspicious enough and disagreeable enough to convince him that he had blundered on something criminal, while on the other hand he had all the deep, irrational conviction of his age and class that such things could never cross the path of an ordinary person except in fiction and could least of all be associated with professors and old schoolfellows. Even if they had been ill-treating the boy, Ransom did not see much chance of getting him from them by force.

    While these thoughts were passing through his head, Devine had been speaking to

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