Page:Flying Death.pdf/174

 I twisted over, clutching at the couch.

My door was opened, without any preliminary rap, by two men who switched on the light and-returned to me my own clothing.

"You're flying today; put these on," one commanded me.

Flying? Yesterday I had flown, being "danced"; then my borrowed garments had sufficed. There was a new implication this morning.

I did not imagine that Bane's mind was so broken that he fancied me converted to his plan; no, he had some other idea of his own regarding me. It involved me in flight, perhaps "dancing" again. Nevertheless, I put on my own clothes and was led out under the stars. The time was three.

Women and men whispered and embraced on the terrace; I made out Mendell's voice and his wife's sobbing a goodbye; I heard Sally Gessler speak; Boggs replied. I listened and looked, in the starlight, for Helen Lacey. She was not discoverable by me.

Pete spoke to me, "Hello".