"Then," said Dr. Quink, "if what you say is true, your physical, let us
say, equipment, must have degenerated. And so a simple physical
examination--"

"Evolution is slow, my doctor, slow, slow, slow. No, I'm physically
indistinguishable from you. Assuming normalcy on your part, of course.
To continue along this train of thought, though, it is the mental
process that provides the difference. There is no desire in me or mine,
Doctor, no urge, no depravity, no sexual hunger. It simply died out over
the eons."

"Since it was no longer necessary," Quink prodded him.

"Or vice versa. With the urge dying, it might have been necessary for us
to circumvent the entire business. An academic question, really. The
chicken or the egg all over again. But since we have conquered time, so
to speak, it must have occurred to you that there is no need for us to
die, and thus no need for birth."

"You are immortal, then," Dr. Quink said, scribbling in his note pad.

Mr. Fairfield shrugged. "It beats sex. Which brings us to the problem we
are discussing, if we can forget myself for a few moments. Mimi seems to
have been awakened to the sexual urge, and that provides an embarrassing
situation. Of course, its real significance is in relation to her
problem as a whole, in the illumination it sheds upon her neurosis, yet
in itself it is, as I say, embarrassing. Coupled with my complete
indifference, I mean. Have you any plans for this evening? Perhaps you
could dine with us without delay?"

* * * * *

Dr. Quink would not ordinarily have accepted such an invitation, being
of that class of physician which believes a disease, be it physical or
mental, best treated in the antiseptic confines of the office or
hospital. Mr. Fairfield, however, struck him as being the altogether
unprepossessing possessor of an altogether distinguished psychosis. He
was, in fact, rapidly supplanting in Dr. Quink's estimation his previous
favorite. Already Dr. Quink was writing, mentally of course, the
introduction to the paper he would present to his professional journal.

Throughout the automobile ride out to Long Island Donald Fairfield was
quiet as, both hands tightly on the steering wheel of his new Buick, he
alternately fought and coasted with the east-bound traffic. Dr. Quink
forced himself to relax, to ignore the ins and outs of the commuters'
raceway. He folded his arms across his chest, slumped down in his seat
with