"When a man sows seed in a ploughed field some of the grains
are picked out by birds, and some never sprout. We are much more
perfectly organised than the earth. The actions we sow in our souls all
take root, inevitably and fatally--and they all grow to maturity sooner
or later."
Orsino stared at him for a moment.
"You are in a philosophising mood this evening," he said.
"We are only logic's pawns," continued Spicca without heeding the
remark. "Or, if you like it better, we are the Devil's chess pieces in
his match against God. We are made to move each in our own way. The one
by short irregular steps in every direction, the other in long straight
lines between starting point and goal--the one stands still, like the
king-piece, and never moves unless he is driven to it, the other jumps
unevenly like the knight. It makes no difference. We take a certain
number of other pieces, and then we are taken ourselves--always by the
adversary--and tossed aside out of the game. But then, it is easy to
carry out the simile, because the game itself was founded on the facts
of life, by the people who invented it.
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