RECOAT IF VOICES PERSIST TO THIRD MORNING PROCEED EUTHANASIA SUGGEST USING COFFEE FORMULA TWO ADVISE OFFICE OF CHIEF PSYCH WMA

He stuck the telegram behind the radishes and looked out the door. Mrs. Tilton was coming with a basket on her arm.

"You heard the child again, Mr. Coat?"

"Perhaps ... I was mistaken."

"Strange, I saw nobody." She put the basket on the kitchen table; it was filled with peas. "Did you have enough coffee?"

He nodded.

"Aren't you feeling well?"

"I ... am fine. Yes."

The executioner looked as if she could not make up her mind about him. Then she smiled. She brought out a wooden bowl, and sat down at the table to shell the peas.

"Why don't you take your walk now? You'll enjoy our little market place."

"Yes." Such a nice day, he thought, shuffling to the window. Spring.

He had enjoyed the market yesterday until he had noticed that there were no children about. No children at all. Only adult primitives and a few well-trained functionaries like Mrs. Tilton.

In the sky in the window he saw a rocket cutting a thin line as it left the atmosphere.

"I'll have your bed ready for your noon nap," she said.

He turned from the window. "Noon?"

"You'll want a nice restful nap then."

He had imagined the poisoned coffee would work faster. His heart beating, he said, "Those are peas, aren't they?"

She nodded. Her hands were busy shelling. "I hung your cane on the coat rack," she said.

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Tilton, I'd rather not go out today. I'd very much like to try shelling peas for you."

"Why, of course. Pull up that chair, why don't you?"

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