weary to try to swim. It was more, perhaps, as if he had descended to a fiery hell where he had been compelled by the authorities to stand constantly on his head. He was tired of making an effort to combat these demons. Had Wilhelmina Ford, Marna Frost, or even Imperia Starling entered his cell that night and offered him his liberty in exchange for a comformation with her desire—he had no very clear idea in any instance of what this actually would be—it is likely he would have yielded. This thought was immediately followed by the pendent belief that on the whole he was safer in jail. Had not the terror of his unknown misdemeanour haunted him, he might have been quite content to languish there where, after all, he was protected from further attacks from alien sources.
The events of the past few days had, until now, driven the memory of Wilhelmina Ford quite out of his head. He had even forgotten to tell that part of his story to Jack. Considering her now, he wondered what had become of her, wondered whether she had been successful in her plan of escape. At least, he mused, she had one advantage in his eyes over the other creatures: she had not attempted to remodel him. For her silence and her absence he was glad to award her a halo, to thank her for playing this nega-
