was in his head!

Vaguely at first, then sharply, as nerves clicked into action, he could sense his arms and legs.

He tried moving them, experimentally. It was a painful process.

There was sound, he realized suddenly—a low, subdued noise level. But there was no light!

Karen! Karen! he thought sharply.

Still just that low noise level. An electric fan going somewhere.

Karen! This time he felt the muscles of his throat contract. His breath came out in a sigh of satisfaction. He had been sub-vocalizing through long habit!

"Karen." He said it; he heard his voice.

"George! You made it!" Karen was there.

"Karen," he said again. A little quavering, but it was a voice. "Karen!" he sobbed. "I can't see!"

"Silly!" she laughed. "Of course not—there's a bandage over your eyes. The optic nerve is very delicate. The doctors have to give the nerve-endings—the nerve-graft—more time to heal. Another three days and you'll be able to see."

A low moan from his throat. "Then," he said, haltingly, "you're still only a voice."

"Not quite," she said. She touched his cheek. Cool, soft fingers. "That better? Now you're the one who needs some sleep."

"Karen," he said.

Silently, she took his hand in hers.

At noon of the fourth day, they removed the bandages from his eyes.

The blinds were drawn on the windows, but still the light was staggering. George squinted until his eyes became accustomed to the brightness. Then he focused them on various items in the room.

He had just flipped the sheets back from his body and was commenting proudly to himself, "I'm more of a man than I thought," when the door opened.

George looked up, startled.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was in the doorway.

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