shoulders. She seemed to be chanting something to herself, though Marc couldn't make it out.

"Toffee...?" he said, and stepped forward to brace himself against the inevitable rush of brash affection.

The girl opened her eyes and looked around hastily.

"Sit down somewhere," she said, "and be quiet."

"Huh?" Marc asked.

Toffee didn't answer. Instead, she closed her eyes, swayed back lightly on her shapely haunches and began the muttered chant anew.

Marc swayed a trifle himself, with astonishment—and perhaps a tinge of disappointment. This wasn't like Toffee at all, not by a long shot. He moved slowly to her side and gazed down at her intent, upturned face.

"Toffee...?" he hazarded.

She didn't open her eyes. Her lips moved. "Molecules," she said.

"What?" Marc asked.

"Molecules," Toffee repeated. "Molecules ... molecules...."

"Molecules?" Marc said. "What are you talking about?"

Toffee opened her eyes at this and looked up at him with anxious irritation.

"Please be still," she said. "I've got to think about molecules exclusively. It isn't helping any, your gabbing away in my ear."

"But why?" Marc asked. "What about molecules?"

"Everything depends on them, that's all," Toffee said impatiently. "Now, just...."

"But wait a min—!"

"Quiet," Toffee said. "Don't you realize that you're tottering on the brink of death at this very moment? Me, too, for that matter."

"Death?" Marc asked. "What are you talking about?"

Toffee looked at him aghast. "Don't you remember?" she asked. "Have you actually forgotten about being shot in the studio?"

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