would be all the more unpleasant for it. And Mrs. Friedlander's. They'd sealed her in a half-mourning, half-hoping future. They'd ruined her whole life.

He'd have to move, of course, with his wife. But perhaps they'd earn the right to a better neighborhood. He walked up the six snow-covered steps to the police station, went inside, sat down and started telling the uniformed figure at the desk about the subversives in his building who owned short-wave radios, starting with Mr. Davidson and going right on down the list. He hoped the Karadi would come and take them away before the funeral.

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