force his voice to be
matter-of-fact--it wouldn't behave.

She stared angrily at the light in her eyes. "I knew you'd be back,"
she said. "I thought I could get you before you got me, but you're too
fast." Her mouth trembled. "This time make it permanent. I don't want
to be tormented again like this."

[Illustration]

He let her go and sat up. He was trembling, too, but not for the same
reason. He turned the light away from her eyes.

"Ever consider that you could be mistaken?" he asked. "You're not the
only one it happens to."

She lay there blinking at him, eyes adjusting to the changed light.
She fumbled at the torn dress, which wouldn't stay where she put it.
"You too?" she said with a vast lack of surprise. "When?"

"They found me here two weeks ago. This is the first time I've come
back."

"Patterns," she said. "There are always patterns in what we do." Her
attitude toward him had changed drastically, he could see it in her
face. "I've been out three weeks longer." She sat up and leaned
closer. She didn't seem to be thinking about the same things that had
been on her mind only seconds before.

He stood up and helped her to her feet. She was near and showed no
inclination to move away. This was something Borgenese hadn't
mentioned, and there was nothing in his re-education to prepare him
for this sensation, but he liked it. He couldn't see her very well,
now that the light was turned off, but she was almost touching him.

"We're in the same situation, I guess." She sighed. "I'm lonely and a
little afraid. Come into my place and we'll talk."

He followed her. She turned into a dwelling that from the outside
seemed identical to the others. Inside, it wasn't quite the same. He
couldn't say in what way it was different, but he didn't think it was
the one he'd been found in.

That torn dress bothered him--not that he wanted her to pin it up. The
tapes hadn't been very explicit about the beauties of the female body,
but he thought he knew what they'd left out.

She was conscious of his gaze and smiled. It was not an invitation, it
was a request, and he didn't mind obeying. She slid into his arms and
kissed him. He was glad about the limitations of re-education. There
were some things a man ought to learn for himself.

She looked up at him. "Maybe you should tell me your name," she said.
"Not that it means much in our case."

"Luis Obispo," he said, holding her.

"I had more trouble, I couldn't choose