motion, felt himself caught, struggling, but it was as if he were a far-off spectator. The words that came to him were meaningless.

Walsh and Sommers, holding him, looked at each other across the prostrate body. The muscles on Walsh's heavy forearms stood out, and there was sweat on Sommers' forehead. Gradually the struggles subsided: Horitz lay still and white, looking upward at nothing.

Dr. Ilyanov came to kneel over him. She said, "He will be cured. And he can't be punished, of course." She turned her head slowly toward the black shape across the room. "But—" she said—"neither can that thing!"

Oscar's tentacles writhed, delicately.

Oscar's tentacles writhed delicately.

 Prev. P 12/12