"You know," he said softly, "I studied in the greatest Salons of the continent to beautify women. Now I specialize in beautifying robots. Why? Simple but paradoxical, but not as paradoxical as it might seem. I can make a robot lovelier than a human."

"Lovelier than a human being!"

"Exactly. Much lovelier. Beauty comes from within as the sages say. It comes from the heart and the soul, my dear. And so few humans any longer have either heart or soul. Of course, that would imply that robots do have hearts and souls, so please, my dear, do not repeat what I have said. Already I am thought to be excessively eccentric for this sad conformistic age of orthodoxy and stupid unimaginative dependency. Beauty comes from individuality and strength, my dear. It comes from sadness and the ability to admit a sense of tragedy. Ah—but it is sad for me, for Julian, my dear. That my fulfillment comes only from adding a sense of life to humanoids. And looking at you—the likes of you—sometimes I wonder if you—"

His voice trailed off like smoke and he shrugged and waved his hands in the air. "So you want to be a blonde. Why a blonde?"

"A tall blonde," she said, "with lots and lots of sex appeal."

He kissed the tips of his fingers and rolled his eyes. "Your wish shall be granted. I, Julian, will outdo myself." He leaned over her. His voice was low. "Why is it that a robot can be made more beautiful than a human? Tell me, my dear, tell me and I shall never tell anyone else. Do you have a soul? Do you have a heart? Do you know what it is to be sad and alone and can you find some pleasure in it? Do you perhaps even find pleasure in yourself, and sometimes find it unnecessary to swim in a sea of humanity like a brainless protozoon?"

"But will I feel real, the way a human feels?"

He straightened up slowly. He touched his forehead, where beads of sweat were forming, and slowly he licked his thin red lips.

"My, my, but you are an inquisitive robot! Why does it mean so much?"

"Tell me, will I feel like the real thing? Flesh—when you touch flesh—"

His hands moved over her. He bent above her. A cabinet slid open. She caught the glint of many different colors of eyeballs looking startlingly real and liquidly alive, and rows of variously sized breasts, and lips, and muscle paddings, and eyelashes and eyebrows and ears and noses and fingers. There 

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