"You look like an ordinary man," he said. "I should be able to talk with you and make you understand."
"I haven't any horns," said Sutton, "if that is what you mean."
"Nor," said Trevor, "any halo, either, so far as I'm concerned."
He flipped another paper clip and it missed the inkwell.
"Seven out of ten," said Trevor.
He flipped another one and it was a hit. Ink spouted up and spattered on the desk.
"Sutton," said Trevor, "you know a great deal about destiny. Have you ever thought of it in terms of manifest destiny?"
Sutton shrugged. "You're using an antiquated term. Pure and simple propaganda of the nineteenth century. There was a certain nation that wore that one threadbare."
"Propaganda," Trevor said. "Let's call it psychology. You say a thing so often and so well that after a time everyone believes it. Even, finally, yourself."
"This manifest destiny," said Sutton. "For the human race, I presume?"