"I want to find some flaw in all this perfection," I told her
flatly. "It simply isn't possible that three million people have no
faults. We are trying our best to understand and learn--would
you mind helping us by saying what, to your minds, are the
worst qualities of this unique civilization of yours?"
We were sitting together in a shaded arbor, in one of those
eating-gardens of theirs. The delicious food had been eaten, a
plate of fruit still before us. We could look out on one side over
a stretch of open country, quietly rich and lovely; on the other,
the garden, with tables here and there, far apart enough for
privacy. Let me say right here that with all their careful "balance
of population" there was no crowding in this country. There was
room, space, a sunny breezy freedom everywhere.
Somel set her chin upon her hand, her elbow on the low wall
beside her, and looked off over the fair land.
"Of course we have faults--all of us," she said.
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