"Accurate predicting of this type is not capable of being taught to all men; unless a man has within him the innate ability to be a Guesser, he is as incapable of learning Guessing as a blind man is incapable of being taught to read." (It occurred to him at that moment to wonder how the Class Six woman had managed to read the Breach of Contract notice. He would have to ask her later.) "On the other hand, just as the mere possession of functioning eyes does not automatically give one the ability to read, neither does the genetic inheritance of Guesser potentialities enable one to make accurate, useful Guesses. To make this potentiality into an ability requires years of hard work and practice. "You must learn to concentrate, to focus your every attention on the job at hand, to--" He broke off suddenly. The woman was standing in the doorway, holding a plate and a steaming mug. Her eyes were wide with puzzlement and astonishment. "You mean _me_?" "No ... no." He shook his head. "I ... was thinking of something else." She came on in, carrying the food. "You got tears in your eyes. You hurt?" He wanted to say _yes_. He wanted to tell her how he was hurt and why. But the words wouldn't--or couldn't--come. "No," he said. "My eyes are just a little blurry, that's all. From sleep." She nodded, accepting his statements. "Here. You eat you this. Put some stuffing in you belly." He ate, not caring what the food tasted like. He didn't speak, and neither did she, for which he was thankful. Conversation during a meal would have been both meaningless and painful to him. It was odd to think that, in a way, a Class Six had more freedom than he did. Presumably, she _could_ talk, if she wanted, even during a meal. And he was glad that she had not tried to eat at the same time. To have his food cooked and served by a Six didn't bother him, nor was he bothered by her hovering nearby. But if she had sat down with him to eat-- But she hadn't, so he dropped the thought from his mind. Afterwards, he felt much better. He actually hadn't realized how hungry he had been. She took the dishes out and returned almost immediately. "You thought what you going to do?" she asked. He shook his head. He hadn't thought. He hadn't even wanted to think. It was as though, somewhere in the back of his mind, something kept whispering that this was all nothing but a very bad dream and that he'd wake up in his cubicle aboard the _Naipor_ at any moment. Intellectually, he knew it wasn't true, but his emotional needs, coupled with wishful thinking, had hamstrung his intellect. However, he knew he couldn't stay here. The thought of living in a Class Six environment all the rest of his life was utterly repellent to him. And there was nowhere else he could go, either. Even though he had not been tried as yet, he had effectively been Declassified. "I suppose I'll just give myself over to the Corporation," he said. "I'll tell them I was waylaid--maybe they'll believe it."