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moonflowers and mary by . . . George Whitley The man with a green thumb is always valuable—especially on the moon. But at times, like our Adam, he can be just a little too green. The age-long speculation as to whether there is or ever was life on Earth's single satellite seems in a fair way to be answered shortly. Bat until the drab truths, whatever they may be, are actually recorded, science fiction writers like George Whitley can continue to concoct such delightful Luny fantasies as this little gem. HIS NAME WAS Adam Ormandy and he was a gardener. He was a big man, a fraction of an inch over six feet tall, and broad to match. His hair was yellow and he usually had at least one day's stubble softening the strong lines of his not unhandsome jaw. His eyes were of that mild blue so often, in this' case so erroneously, associated with men who work in the open air. His face and his hands were deeply tanned—he, as well as his plants, derived benefit from the ultra- violet lamps so essential to vegetable wellbeing. When his shift was over he liked nothing so much as a long walk. After his walk he would make for the Colony's bar—the one reserved for the use of minor technicians—and there drink two, never more nor less, glasses of fruit squash undiluted by any form of alcohol. He did not approve of drinking |
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