The Sea is ugly and monotonous, with only four or five faces, and all of them coarse, but mankind has just decided to deny this ugliness for subconscious reasons.
We've often wondered what would happen if Robert Young should cease to be a lyrically intense writer for a story or two, forsaking the bright, poetic worlds of miss katy three and the first sweet sleep of night to become dispassionately analytical on a cosmic scale.
When you consider the varieties of people who will in all probability populate the near future the irrepressible George Gannett of this utterly delightful excursion into the star-bright realms of unorthodox fantasy should not too greatly surprise an Evelyn-Smith-enchanted-reader.
There was an old Simorgyan legend, Fafhrd had insisted, according to which on the seventh day of the seventh moon of the seventh year of the Sevens-Cycle the king of the sea journeyed to the other end of the earth, leaving his opalescently beautiful green wives and faintly silver-scaled slim concubines free to find them lovers if they could .
