Leyloon turned finally, into a house. The noises of the city were suddenly cut off.

Almost immediately the business with paper and pen began. She picked a sheet from a desk and held it out to him.

"It is almost evening," it read. "I will go back to the ship with you now."

Darrel swore. They had just come from the ship!

With the pen, Leyloon erased the absurd message and fastened the sheet to the gummed end of a pad with a rapid reverse tearing motion.

"Blazing comets!" Darrel exploded.

Her face radiant, Leyloon held up another sheet.

"Yes, of course," it said. "Have you forgotten already?"

Darrel stared at the page blankly. Forgotten what? Yes, what?

Without conscious volition he took a part in the grotesque drama. He began to write on the pad he carried in his pocket. Leyloon peered at him strangely as he wrote, her eyes wide open and somewhat incredulous. He watched the words form under his hand, not knowing what they would be.

"Do you live here, Leyloon?" he wrote.

What a stupid question! He knew she lived here. Why would she turn into the place if she didn't? Why in the name of infinite galaxies did he ask a question like that?

Another sheet was being held out to him.

"Yes. You decided it was."

Decided what was what?

Nonplussed, he stood witness to himself in the act of writing, "But is it inevitable, Leyloon?"

Darrel growled angrily. Was what inevitable?

He wrote again, and as he wrote he saw an increasing fascination and wonder in the girl's eyes as she watched him. The rite was as strange to her as it was to him.

"Absolutely," his message said. "I do."

Now what? This was all meaningless.

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