The twins lay on the cliff edge up above Gunnar's Cave. The beautiful flying saucer, spinning like a huge noiseless top, hovered in the air not faraway from them, a little higher up, over the sea, in a place where they had often seen it come before. The shallow silvery metal dome glowed with a light which seemed emanate from itself and owe nothing to the sun, and about the slim tapering outer extremity a thin line of lambent blue flame rippled and leapt. It was difficult to discern the size of the saucer, which seemed to inhabit a space of its own, as if it were inserted or pocketed in a dimension to which it did not quite belong. In some way it defeated the attempt of the human eye to estimate and measure. It hovered in its own element, in its own silence, indubitably physical, indubitably present and yet other. Then, as the children watched, it tilted slightly, and with that movement they could never confidently interpret either as speed or as some sort of dematerializing or actual vanishing, was gone.
The twins sighed and sat up. They never spoke when the saucer was present.
'It stayed a long time today, didn't it.'
'Isn't it odd how we know it doesn't want to be photographed.'
'Telepathy, I expect.'
'I think they're good people, don't you?'
'Must be. They're so clever and they don't do any harm.'
'I think they like us. I wonder if we shall ever see them.'

The point is that nothing matters except loving what is good. Not to look at evil but to look at good....In the light of the good, evil can be seen in its place, not owned, just existing, in its place.

“Where’s Pierce?” ... “He’s up in Barbie’s room, He’s decorating it with shells. He must have brought in a ton.” ...
Mary saw that Pierce had covered the table with a complicated pattern composed of hundreds of shells arranged in spirals, tiny ones in the centre, larger ones on the outside. Adjusting the outer edge of the pattern he stooped to select a shell from a heap at his feet.... She saw the huge shell design as utterly untimely. It was something that belonged to the quietness of Pierce’s thought about Barbara and not to the hurly-burly of Barbara’s actual arrival ...
[Barbara sweeps in] “... What on earth are all those shells doing on my table, just push them up in a pile will you, oh damn they’re falling all over the floor ...”

“You must put all those stones out in the garden,” said Mary ... There’s nothing special about them.”
“There’s something special about every stone,” said Edward.

“I do wish you’d do something about those stones,” said Mary. “Couldn’t you put them in order of merit, then we could find a home outside for the less important ones?”