it.

Louise had tried to argue with him after she had found out, but he had turned every exchange of views into a peaceful discussion, which from his side, at least, was brimming over with good humor. He had even been good-humored when she tried to slip the antidote into his food. It was this attitude of his that had so often left her baffled and enraged, and he had a good chuckle out of that, too. Imagine a wife getting angry because her husband was too good-natured.

But she was never going to get angry again. He would see to that. Not after tonight. A big change was going to take place in her life.

She had picked up another book, and for the moment he pitied her. He knew that she wasn't interested in any books. She was merely restless, looking for something to do with herself, seeking some method of killing time before the shadows outside killed it for her for good and all. She couldn't understand his being so peaceful and contented, doing nothing at all.

She threw the second book down and snarled—yes, that was the word, "You're such a fool, Jim! You sit there, smug and sure of yourself, your mind blank, just waiting—waiting for them to kill you and me. And you seem actually happy when I mention it."

"I'm happy at anything and everything, dear."

"At the thought of dying too?"

"Living or dying—it doesn't make any difference. Whatever happens, I'm incapable of being unhappy."

"If it weren't for the drug, we'd both live. You'd think of a way to kill them before they killed us."

"There is no way."

"There must be. You just can't think of it while the drug has you in its grip."

"The drug doesn't have you, dear." He asked without sarcasm, "Why don't you think of a way?"

"Because I lack the training you have. Because I don't have the scientific knowledge, and all the equipment scattered around means nothing to me."

"There's nothing to be done."

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