hen turned and spurted inside Ken Wanger's Shoe Hospital.

Doctor Spechaug turned his dark head. His companion apparently hadn't
noticed anything ominous or peculiar. But to him, the whole scene was
morose, fetid and brooding.

They walked down the cracked concrete walk, passed the big plate-glass
windows of Murphy's General Store which were a kind of fetish in Glen
Oaks. But Doctor Spechaug wasn't concerned with the cultural
significance of the windows. He was concerned with _not_ looking into
it.

And oddly, he never did look at himself in the glass, neither did he
look across the street. Though the glass did pull his gaze into it with
an implacable somewhat terrible insistence. And he stared. He stared at
that portion of the glass which was supposed to reflect Edith Bailey's
material self--_but didn't reflect anything. Not even a shadow._

They stopped. They turned slowly toward each other. He swallowed hard,
trembled slightly. And then he knew deep and dismal horror. He studied
that section of glass where her image was supposed to be. _It still
wasn't._

He turned. And she was still standing there. "Well?"

And then she said in a hoarse whisper: "_Your reflection--where is it?_"

And all he could say was: "And yours?"

Little bits of chuckling laughter echoed in the inchoate madness of his
suddenly whirling brain. Echoing years of lecture on--cause and effect,
logic. Little bits of chuckling laughter. He grabbed her arm.

"_We--we can see our own reflections, but we can't see each other's!_"

She shivered. Her face was terribly white. "What--what is the answer?"

No. He didn't have it figured out. Let the witches figure it out. Let
some old forbidden books do it. Bring the problem to some warlock. But
not to him. He was only a Doctor of Philosophy in Psychology. But
maybe--

"Hallucinations," he muttered faintly. "Negative hallucinations."

"Doctor. Did you ever hear the little joke about the two psychiatrists
who met one morning and one said, 'You're feeling excellent today. How
am I feeling?'"

He shrugged. "We have insight into each other's abnormality, but are
unaware of the same in ourselves."

"That's the whole basis for psychiatry, isn't it?"

"In a way. But this is physical--functional--when psychiatry presents
situation where--" His voice trailed off.

"I have it figured this way." How eager she was. Somehow, it didn't
matter much now, to him. "We're conditioned to react to reality in
c