Ray looked at him and sank into the nearest chair. "Yelling?" he said bewilderedly. His fingers began to unconsciously perform on the chair arm. "I don't know. Was I yelling?" Sarah was in Joe's arms, her blue-black hair sending its aching fragrance into his nostrils. "Joe," she whispered, "Joe, what happened?" He tipped back her head, ran a finger over her smooth, brown forehead. Hypnosis--to paralyze and freeze him, to weaken him. He drew her face against his shoulder again. What _had_ happened? What would those Psychologists back in Iowa say if this story ever reached their ears? _The barrier?--the "some sort of block" in my mind, my freakish mind, that keeps out Projectors--and Aarnians?_ "Kent," he said, "fix us all some drinks. Lieutenant Smith's got a story to tell us--about that picnic."