Her hand flew to her mouth. There was a bark of laughter from Mrs. Goudeket. "You thought nobody knew? You thought you could see through everybody, Miss Sharon Froman, but nobody could see through you? We all know you have an upper plate. We all know you'll never finish your book or hold a man. We all see through you because we all see through each other, but we know also that we're seen through. That makes us sometimes kind to each other--we have to be. But you, you have to think you're perfect and that if anybody sees anything less than perfect in you it's because they're fools." The '47 Dodge rolled slowly into the motor pool. A scared young voice asked: "Is this the place I'm supposed to leave the car?" "I guess so," Mr. Cioni said. The young soldier climbed out wearily. "Boy," he said, and wiped his brow. "I'm supposed to wait here until they come by on patrol and pick me up." Groff moved out of earshot of the women. "Hear about the shooting?" he asked quietly. The soldier shuddered. "Heck, I'm the guy that did it. Had no choice. A cop shoots if somebody runs and doesn't stop, doesn't he? Well, I was supposed to be a cop." And he added defensively and illogically, "How could I check the sighting leaf in the dark?" That told the story. Of course he could have checked the sighting leaf in the dark by the clicks if he had known enough about it. Artie Chesbro, struck down in full career by a quarter-trained child who had not meant to kill. Something--God? Chance? Compensation?--had laid a finger briefly on the balances and dressed them. The world was saved from Artie Chesbro--until the next one came along. "Get in the car," Mrs. Goudeket grunted, sliding behind the wheel. "Come on, Polly," Groff said. She leaned against him on the short walk; a certain excitement--compounded of a feeling for her and of a sense of challenging opportunity--began to tingle through him. She sensed it and smiled; it would be nice, she thought. In the back of the car she dropped her head on his shoulder and was asleep. Dick McCue got in beside Mrs. Goudeket and slammed the door. "Mrs. G.?" asked Sharon Froman. "You can't _mean_ this?" Mrs. Goudeket snorted, put the car in gear and ground off down the road to Goudeket's Green Acres. "Bitch," said Sharon softly. She walked over to the motor pool man. "You're Mr. Cioni, aren't you? Somebody said you were a plumbing engineer." "Just a plumber," said Mr. Cioni modestly, but flattered. "There's going to be a lot of work for you before long." "Oughtta do pretty well out of it. The shop's hardly touched. My wife, thank God, hardly knew it was happening. She's an invalid." "How terrible! But shouldn't somebody be taking care of her? I'm a sort of practical nurse, you know--" "Well, say, that would be--"