rom everything. Long sullen silences, self-pity, brooding
over the news stories that got worse and worse. And the children--one
born dead--two born deaf and dumb and blind.

_Worse than dead._

You helped, he accused himself. You worked for those who set off the
bombs and tested and tested while the cycle went up and up beyond human
tolerance--not the death level, but the level where nothing was sure
again, the level that made cancer a thing of epidemic proportions,
replacing statistically all of the insane multitude of things that man
could do to kill himself. Even the good things that the atom had brought
were destroyed in the panic that ensued. No matter that you quit. You
are still one of the guilty. You have seen it hidden in her eyes and you
have seen it in the milky eyes of the twins.

_Worse than dead._

Dusk became night and finally the doctor came. It had begun to lightning
and a few large drops of rain stroked Rush's cheek. Not a good year for
the farming he had retreated to. Not a good year for anything. He stood
to greet the doctor and the other man with him.

"Good evening, doctor," he said.

"Mr. Rush--" the doctor shook hands gingerly, "I hope you don't mind me
bringing someone along--this is Mr. North. He is with the County
Juvenile Office." The young doctor smiled. "How is the patient this
evening?"

"She is the same," John Rush said to the doctor. He turned to the other
man, keeping his face emotionless, hands at his side. He had expected
this for some time. "I think you will be wanting to look at the twins.
They are by her bed." He opened the door and motioned them in and then
followed.

He heard the Juvenile man catch his breath a little. The twins were
playing again. They had left their vigil at the bedside and they were
moving swiftly around the small living room, their hands and arms and
legs moving in some synchronized game that had no meaning--their
movements quick and sure--their faces showing some intensity, some
purpose. They moved with grace, avoiding obstructions.

"I thought these children were blind," Mr. North said.

John smiled a little. "It is unnerving. I have seen them play like this
before--though they have not done so for a long time--since my wife has
been ill." He lowered his head. "They are blind, deaf, and dumb."

"How old are they?"

"Twelve."

"They do not seem to be more than eight--nine at the most."

"They have been well fed," John said softly.

"How a