"Did you hear it?" she asked us.

"Yes," I said, and the man nodded.

"Is it possible that she was operating on a loudspeaker?" the girl asked.

"She?" we both said.

"That woman's voice," the girl said, looking a little exasperated. "A young woman—she said, 'Judgment of the inhabitants—'"

"It was a man's voice," the man said. "Of that I'm certain." He looked at me, and I nodded.

"Oh no," the girl told us. "A girl—she even had a slight New England accent—it was unmistakable." She looked around for support.

The people on Lexington Avenue had gathered in small groups. There were knots of people up and down the sidewalks as far as I could see. The cars still weren't moving. Most of the drivers had gotten out to ask someone else about the voice.

"Say, pardon me," some man said to me. "Am I hearing things or did you hear—"

That's how it was for the next hour. Everyone, it seemed, had heard it. But every woman was sure it had been a woman's voice, and every man was sure it had been a man's. I left finally, and went to my store.

Minnie, the salesgirl, and Frank, my stock boy, were already there. They had the radio on, but they were talking over it.

"Say, Mr. Ostersen," Frank called as I walked in. "Did you hear it?"

I sat down and discussed it with them, but we couldn't tell each other much. Frank had been in the store when he heard it. Minnie had just been walking in, her hand on the doorknob. Minnie was sure it was a girl's voice, about her own age, with just the trace of a Bronx accent. Frank and I held out for a man's voice, but where I was sure the man was in his early forties or late thirties, Frank was positive it was a young man, about twenty or twenty-two.

We noticed the radio, finally. It had been broadcasting all that time, but we hadn't paid any attention.

"... voice was heard in all parts of the country, at nine-oh-three this morning, Eastern Standard Time. This voice, purporting to be that of—of the, ah, Deity, announcing the Judgment Day, was 

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