"I want my soul. I want to go to that woman. I want to go to Hempnell." Now that he had touched off the blind hunger in her, it persisted. He was reminded of a phonograph needle caught in the same groove, or a mechanical toy turned on to a new track by a little push. "We'll go there all right." It was still hard for him to control his breathing. "We'll get it back." "But I must start for Hempnell soon. My clothes were ruined by the water. I must have the maid clean and press them." With a slow, even movement she got to her feet and started toward the phone. "But, Tansy," he objected involuntarily. "It's three in the morning. You can't get a maid now." "But my clothes must be cleaned and pressed. I must start for Hempnell soon." The words might have been those of an obstinate woman, sulky and selfish. But they had less tone that a sleepwalker's. She kept on toward the phone. Although he did not anticipate that he would do it, he shrank out of her way, pressing close against the side of the bed. "But even if there is a maid," he said, "she won't come at this hour." The pallid face turned toward him incuriously. "The maid will be a woman." It was a little while before he got the implication of the words. "She will come when she hears me." Then she was talking to the night clerk. "Is there a maid in the hotel?... Send her to my room.... Then ring her.... I cannot wait until morning.... I need her at once.... I cannot tell you the reason.... Thank you." Norman was thinking: How can a physiological machine conceive and carry out even such a simple plan? Yet how could a conscious human being do it with such utter listlessness? Same paradox. He wondered if he ought to stop her. But an idea was growing in his mind. There was a long wait, while he heard faintly the repeated ringing at the other end of the line. He could imagine the sleepy, surly voice that finally answered. "Is this the maid?... Come at once to Room 37." He could almost catch the indignant answer. Then--"Can't you hear my voice? Don't you realize who is speaking?... Yes.... Come at once." And she replaced the phone in its cradle. "Tansy--" he began. Then his eyes met hers, and once again he found himself asking a halting prefatory question, although he had not intended to. "You are able to hear and answer my questions?" "I can answer questions. I have been answering questions for three hours." The lack of expression only made the irony more complete. * * * * * But--logic prompted wearily--if she can remember what has been happening these last three hours, then surely--And yet, what is memory but a track worn in the nervous system? In order to explain memory you don't need to bring in consciousness. Quit banging your head against that stone wall, you fool!--came another inward prompting. You've looked in her eyes, haven't you? Well, then, get on with it! "Tansy, is that woman coming here because she's ... well, the same as you were?"