With the suddenness of a blow, longing for Tansy struck him. Her intonations, her gestures, her mannerisms, her funny fancies--all the little things that go to make a person real, and human, and loved--he wanted them all instantly; and the presence of this dead-alive imitation, this poor husk of Tansy, only made the longing less bearable. And what sort of a man was he, to be puttering around with occult formulas, while all the while he--"There are things that can be done to a soul," she had said. "Servant girls of the Gunnisons have told stories--" He ought to go up there and take by force what was his! The reaction was immediate. How could you take by force what was without form or material being? How could you use open force against someone who had your dearest possession as a hostage? No, these repugnant occult formulas were his only hope, and he had gotten his usual punishment for making the mistake of looking at her. Deliberately he moved to the other side of the table, so his back was to the rocking chair. But he was restless, his muscles itching with fatigue poisons, and for the moment, he could not get back to the work. All sorts of questions were plaguing his mind. * * * * * Suddenly Norman spoke. "Why do you suppose everything has become violent and deadly so abruptly?" "What I believe they call the Balance was upset," was the answer. There was no interruption in the steady rocking. "How was that?" He started to look over the back of his chair, but checked himself in time. "It happened when I ceased to practice magic." The rocking was a grating monotony. "But why should that lead to violence?" "It upset the Balance." "Yes, but how can that explain the abruptness of the shift from relatively trivial attacks to a deadly maliciousness?" The rocking had stopped. There was no answer. But, as he told himself, he knew the answer already. This women's warfare was very much like trench warfare or a battle between fortified lines--a state of siege. Just as thick, reinforced concrete or armor plating nullified the shells, so countercharms and protective procedures rendered relatively futile the most violent onslaughts. But once the armor and concrete were gone, and you were out in a kind of no man's land-- Then, too, fear of the savage counterattacks that could be launched from such highly fortified positions, was a potent factor in discouraging direct assaults. The natural thing would be to sit pat, snipe away, and only attack if the enemy exposed himself recklessly. Besides, there were probably all sorts of unsuspected hostages and secret agreements, all putting a damper on violence.