I went in and shook hands with my hostess, but no one else took any special notice; no one screamed or left the room; the quiet murmur of talk went on. I suppose I seemed like the others; observed from outside no doubt I looked more or less like them.

But inside, seen from within...? Or was it a conceivable hypothesis that we were all alike inside also—that all those quietly-talking people had got the Moon, too, in their heads?