They Were Different — Context and Discussion
Edition facts
They Were Different — Context and Discussion can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 9,801 words, 43 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.
The text analysis averages about 18.1 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Science fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
You had just left on a long vacation when _that_ one showed up. He was the man that Lucille brought up with her as a prospective pupil, the one that--one wing of them is closing in on us now, Kitten. We'll have to try for the swamp ahead of us. We'll have to lose them for a while if we want time to figure a way out, though we aren't really very good at this sort of cat and mouse game. We can give our own boys a little credit, though. They aren't really trying to hit us. They shoot well enough to be able to make it look very good. All we really have to worry about is Thurlow and his trained deputy, Trainor.
There, that was nice. The sheriff himself just spotted us and started a pincer movement--fifty yards in back of us. Good old boy. Hope he doesn't get in trouble over us.
At last! If this patch of swampy brush is really as thick as we ESP it we're made, providing the highway troopers of this state don't get too smart and take over the operation. Our sheriff is in charge so far. Lord, if we only weren't so tired!
Anyhow, Lucy brought Thurlow in and we gave him the usual treatment. The only trouble is we overdid it slightly and it scared him. Besides telling him what he had for breakfast we ESPed his wallet and told him its contents and when he reached for it in a sort of stunned reflex action we levitated it into his hand. It was a pretty big mistake in view of the fact that he was one of that bunch that was fairly sensitive mentally, but whom we couldn't read thoroughly. We could telepath only the very surface of his mind. He would have made a wonderful adept with the proper training.
He was awed but shocked and scared, too. It was outside his realm of experience and he was superstitious in spite of his fine education. Some folks don't let learning sink in to open the rusty locks of prejudice and inhibition.
He said things that bared his mind as surely as if we had read him. It wasn't a pretty mind, either. It made us sick physically and the impulses that did come through were deep and angry, giving us a terrific headache and making it hard to concentrate. Later we followed him but still couldn't read him for the anger flashes blotted out his thought stream thoroughly.
To him, what we were doing just couldn't happen in good old 1983. We were dealing in the black arts and he told us as much, refusing to listen to reason in any shape. The fact that everyone has these capabilities latent was altogether lost on him. Our licenses, diplomas and degrees meant less than nothing and the longer he went on the more rabid he got, frothing obscenely about such things as tampering with forces better left alone and man thinking with his brains instead of letting the Prince of Darkness do it for him. Had it not been so serious it would have been almost slapstick. Instead he was tragic.
When he got to the part about us eventually filling the minds of children with our loathsome disease he ran out of expletives and stormed out of the office in a cloud of anger and fright, muttering that we hadn't heard the last of _him_.
Lucy, of course, was heartsick. We didn't have to tell her what the meeting had meant. Nor did we tell her what else we'd ESPed in Thurlow's wallet. She found that out during the rather abortive lesson we tried to give her for she read as we interrupted it (that shows how much off beam we were because we just don't do that) to take a phone call from Casey down at the sheriff's office. Our visitor, Thurlow, was District Judge Thurlow of District Two, a very high man on the law enforcement pole.
Casey was good. He'd listened in while Thurlow was complaining to the sheriff and apparently heard the sheriff read the judge off politely but nonetheless firmly, telling him first how valuable we were to the force when it came to interrogating hard-to-crack suspects and as long as we hadn't committed murder or rape or passed any bum checks there was nothing to be done. Especially since the judge His Honor was out of his district! Fortunately we were in District One over which our mutual friend, Judge Kimball, presides.
The story unfolds through a secretary's claim to have transcribed telepathic transmissions from three siblings with psychic abilities. The narrative is deliberately disjointed, presented as raw notes with the admission that nothing has been added in translation. This framing device immediately establishes a tension between the chaotic, lived experience of the protagonists and the orderly record the secretary attempts to create.
The opening pages move abruptly from a news-clip summary of the siblings' history—their strange birth, education, and gifts—to a first-person transmission that begins mid-scene: "Well, Kitten, it seems impossible that three grand, successful years of work could end so suddenly with us lying in a ditch." The reader is dropped into a moment of crisis without preparation, forced to piece together context from fragments.
Fragmented Transmission as Narrative Structure
The text is built from short, unpolished sections that jump between time frames and speakers. The secretary explains that the notes were taken in a special shorthand and left "as disjointed as they gave it." This structural choice mirrors the telepathic medium: thoughts do not arrive in neat paragraphs. For example, a transmission might begin with a reflection on three successful years, then pivot to a memory of a pupil named Lucille who "turned over the stone that freed our personal gremlin," then shift again to the present danger of bullets from friends. The reader experiences the same disorientation the protagonists feel, with no clear chronology or transition.
The effect is that the story resists linear summary. Events are alluded to before they are explained—the "restraining order," the "bench warrant," the "persecution"—forcing the reader to hold multiple timelines in mind. This technique aligns with the theme of psychic perception, where past, present, and future might be sensed simultaneously.
Recurring Images of Pursuit and Confinement
Throughout the excerpts, the protagonists are repeatedly described in positions of physical vulnerability: lying in a ditch, wallowing in mud, anticipating bullets. These images of being trapped or hunted recur across different settings—from an irrigation ditch to a carnival midway to a train station. The language emphasizes sudden reversals: three successful years end "so suddenly," and a joyful reunion at a carnival tent is interrupted by the unnoticed approach of enemies.
The motif of confinement extends to legal and social pressures. The siblings are pursued by a judge who seems vindictive, a sheriff, and deputies. The phrase "we were in deep trouble again—deeper than any that had gone before" suggests a pattern of escalating persecution. Even the act of teaching becomes clandestine: the narrator advises future pupils to "stay underground" and "use care" to avoid detention. The physical and legal traps mirror each other, creating a sense of inescapable pressure.
Movement Between Public and Hidden Spaces
The narrative moves through a series of contrasting locations: the university, the carnival, the irrigation ditch, the train station, the tent behind the midway. Each setting carries different connotations of visibility and safety. The university offered protection, but the protagonists chose to go "out on our own," entering the public sphere of the carnival. There, they perform shows while secretly recruiting pupils—a precarious balance between exposure and concealment.
The train station scene crystallizes this tension. A ticket agent notices an unusual number of passengers heading to the same small carnival, triggering suspicion. The protagonists' attempt to reunite with former pupils becomes a trap because they let their guard down: "we were all so excited at seeing each other that their presence went unnoticed." The movement from hidden to public space is consistently dangerous, and the narrative tracks these shifts with a sense of mounting claustrophobia.
Voice and the Unreliable Frame
The story is filtered through multiple layers: the secretary's transcription, the siblings' transmissions, and the implied editorial hand that assembled the clips. The secretary admits to being the siblings' "first and most advanced pupil" and claims to have added nothing, yet the act of selection and ordering is itself interpretive. The transmissions use direct address—"Well, Kitten," "Princess," "Baby"—suggesting an intimate, urgent conversation among a small group. These nicknames hint at relationships and hierarchies that are never fully explained.
The secretary's framing also introduces a religious note: "Pray. And hope—for mankind." This closing plea colors the entire account as a warning or testament, but the fragmented nature of the transmissions prevents the reader from verifying the secretary's interpretation. The voice remains unstable, caught between the raw emotion of the siblings and the retrospective framing of the secretary, who may be shaping the story for her own purposes.
The story's structure—disjointed, recursive, and framed by a self-identified transcriber—invites the reader to question the reliability of the account. Pay attention to the gaps between transmissions and the shifts in address. The narrative does not resolve the tension between the siblings' desire to teach and the forces that oppose them; instead, it leaves the reader with the same uncertainty the characters face. The fragmented form is not a flaw but a deliberate reflection of the telepathic experience the story attempts to convey.
Reading about the siblings' fragmented transmissions, I remembered the summers my brother and I invented our own silent language, a code the adults never cracked. That feeling of being uniquely understood, yet perilously isolated, lingered. Another book once stirred this same ache—the quiet tragedy of minds too intertwined for the world’s comfort—and I recalled it while turning these pages: What Shall It Profit? — Inside the Classic. Some stories just echo that old knowing.
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