sleazy
imitation of your old room is wrong. You're strong enough, and I love
you--you can accept truth."

His face changed, all expression sponged from it in an instant as he
looked into her eyes, and then it seemed to dissolve into something ugly
and yet childish. She saw tears burst through and furrow the dust on his
cheeks.

"Dear Lord," he cried, almost reverently, "must this go on forever? Will
she ever come back to me?"

His voice choked off and he stumbled across the room and out the door.
She heard it shut behind him, and she was hunting for Essie, already
having forgotten the ill-mannered intruder.

There was no Essie, only a mannikin of cloth-stuffed white nylon and
lipstick, with black nylon for hair.

And then the room shimmered and broke apart and reformed and she was
back in her bed with the sun on the slowly dancing green leaves outside
the four long windows. Essie was smiling down at her from the dresser,
and the paintings were as always, soft colors and perfectly drafted.

Had she thought there were four windows? How silly of her. The second
from the right was a small oval of glass, or rather, a glass-covered
picture of desert scene. Odd that she had forgotten about that picture.
Oh well, what did it matter.

In a few days she would be well enough again to climb out on the giant
limbs and into the tree nest that her brother, Alex, had built. And the
boys would come to see her and take her to the drugstore for sodas and
sundaes.

Yes, she was sure now. She _did_ like Buhl Austin best....

[Illustration]

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ December 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
typographical errors have been corrected without note.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Moment of Truth, by Basil Eugene Wells

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