last Father Seador said:
"If you really believe you've been hexed, you'd better give me all the
details. When did you feel this ... this curse put upon you?"

"This morning," Mrs. Wladek said.

"And what kind of curse is this? I mean, what effect has it had?"

Mrs. Wladek's voice was as hard as iron. "It has made my son take a job.
It has made me want to look for a job. In time, I will not be able to
fight the curse, and I will take a job. And then--"

"I don't see anything wrong about that," Father Seador said mildly.

"You see nothing wrong in a poor old woman being forced to work? In a
boy forced to grind out his youth among package-wrappers? You see
nothing wrong in this?"

"Well, I ... we all have to work."

"Here?" Mrs. Wladek said with astonishment. "Here in America, you
believe that? It is not so. My own uncle Bedrich has told me years ago
it is not so. Do you dispute the word of my own uncle Bedrich?"

"My good woman," said Father Seador, "look around you ... your friends,
your neighbors--"

"Let us say no more about it," Mrs. Wladek interrupted. "There is a
curse upon me and I have called on you to remove this curse."

"How do you know this is a curse? Our minds do change, you know, and
they do strange things--"

"I have been told," Mrs. Wladek said.

"You've been told? By whom?"

Mrs. Wladek drew herself up in the chair. "By Marya Proderenska, the
gypsy fortune teller. She knows that--"

"A gypsy? You consulted a fortune teller?"

"I did."

"Mrs. Wladek, do you know what you are saying ... what you have done?
Don't you realize you have committed a sin against--"

But he was speaking to empty air. Marie Wladek was gone.

* * * * *

Gloria looked up at the little clock and sighed briefly. Five o'clock.
Another day gone already.

It was a shame, in a way, that time passed so quickly. Gloria didn't
feel the least bit tired. After all, she had spent the day in helping
people, and that was what made life worthwhile.

But it was quitting time. Staying late would give her the reputation of
an eager beaver, and that would make her unpopular. Not that she cared
for popularity for its own sake--certainly not!--but you couldn't do
your best work unless the others in your office were willing to help
you.

Leaving on time was a simple sacrifice to make for them.

She pulled open the desk drawer and got her beret. Then, as she was
putting it on, she remembered.