And, after Willy's brief orientation, this was understandable: Nothing could disrupt the perpetual entertainment cycles more easily than excessive drinking. A tipsy person was not a good customer for other leisure-time activities. Therefore, permit only one drink to a person, and charge enough for it so that the liquor monopoly would get its fair share of the entertainment expenditure. As Willy would say, it was just good business. Maria touched his hand to signify it was time to leave. Walther took her up to her room on the 32nd floor, and they watched two musical comedies en route on the elevator pay-as-you-see television screen. In front of her door, Maria lightly touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. She said, "Thyfrwrdrftm." Walther knew she was thanking him, but from force of newly-acquired habit he reached for his Manual. She laughed, shook her head and translated her own words by raising up on tiptoe and brushing his lips with her own. Their lips were together so briefly that Walther wasn't sure whether he had really kissed her. He reached out to take her in his arms and make sure of it. Deftly, she turned away and closed her door behind her. * * * * * Many thoughts interfered with Walther's second night of sleep on Earth, and they weren't only of Maria. In fact, as his idea took form, even the scent of her perfume and the moth-like touch of her lips were forced temporarily into the background of his consciousness. The next morning he waited impatiently for an hour after breakfast, then went up to Willy's room. Willy came to the door in his dressing robe, holding his glasses in one hand and a sheet of music in the other. He waved aside Walther's apology for not waiting until afternoon. "Nein ... nein!" he said. "I ordered an extra pot of coffee--because I didn't think you could wait!" Willy led Walther into his sitting room and poured him some coffee. "Maria was already here," he chuckled. "She came to ... ah ... pick up music ... and to ask what I know about you. I told her nothing good, and nothing bad!" He settled himself in his easy chair with a luxurious sigh. His bristling white hair and cherubic cheeks gave him the appearance of a benign old innkeeper, brought to life from a canvas by Holbein. "All right, tell me what you've been thinking about all night!" Walther shifted tensely to the edge of his chair. He spilled a little coffee in setting his cup down. "I would like to buy copies," he said, "of everything your Digester friends have ever smuggled out of the vaults!" "That's a large order, my young friend." "I'll pay ... whatever it costs!"