“Mummy,” said Tristran, “why is the sky blue?” His mother took him by the waist and hoisted him onto her lap. “Well, darling” she said, bouncing him on her knee, “a long, long time ago there was a beautiful angel in Heaven that everyone loved, but she died at a very young age. So God made the sky the same colour as her eyes, so we would be reminded of her every day.” Tristran looked up at his mother. “Oh,” he said, “so it’s not short-wavelength Rayleigh scattering from sub-nanometre particles, then?” Tristran had always been a rather precocious child.
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