Books In English "City Of Illusions" Ursula K. Le Guin | Page 113

Winter-born, prech Ramarren. Spring was just beginning when we left. I
scarcely ever saw a cloudless sky."
If all this was true, then it would seem that in fact only he—his
suppressed self, Ramarren—could say where he and Orry came from.
Would that then explain what seemed almost the central puzzle, the
interest the Shing took in him, their bringing him here under Estrel's
tutelage, their offer to restore his memory? There was a world not under
their control; it had re-invented light-speed flight; they would want to
know where it was. And if they restored his memory, he could tell them. If
they could restore his memory. If anything at all of what they had told him
was true.
He sighed. He was weary of this turmoil of suspicions, this plethora of
unsubstantiated marvels. At moments he wondered if he was still under the
influence of some drug. He felt wholly inadequate to judge what he should
do. He, and probably this boy, were like toys in the hands of strange
faithless players.
"Was he—the one called Abundibot—was he in the room just now, or
was it a projection, an illusion?"
"I don't know, prech Ramarren," Orry replied. The stuff he was
breathing in from the tube seemed to cheer and soothe him; always rather
childlike, he spoke now with blithe ease. "I expect he was there. But they
never come close. I tell you—this is strange—in this long time I've been
here, six years, I have never touched one of them. They keep very much
apart, each one alone. I don't mean that they are unkind," he added hastily,
looking with his clear eyes at Falk to make sure he had not given the
wrong impression. "They are very kind. I am very fond of Lord
Abundibot, and Ken Kenyek, and Parla. But they are so far—beyond
me—They know so much. They bear so much. They keep knowledge
alive, and keep the peace, and bear the burdens, and so they have done for
a thousand years, while the rest of the people of Earth take no
responsibility and live in bruti