The violet deepened to black and the light was gone. Suddenly knives were tearing at his flesh. His body was racked by a thousand pains. Jimmie Blake screamed. The scream was choked off into horrible silence. His father came to the foot of the stairs. "What's wrong, son?" he called. There was no answer. His father went upstairs. Mystified, perplexed, he began to search. "Jimmie!" he called. "_Jimmie!_" There was no answer. Jimmie's mother came up the stairs. Her face was suddenly white. One hand was pressed over her heart. "What--" she began. Her husband was standing in their son's room. She had not known he was so old, so haggard, and so tired looking. "Jimmie's gone," he whispered. He barely managed to catch her as she fell. * * * * * Lee Garth's face was white, drawn, pinched. Bloodless. His hair was twisted and tangled, there was a stubble on his face. He lifted blood-clotted eyes from the screen in front of him, the screen that had suddenly gone blank as he flipped a dial set in the control-studded table on which his hands rested. Deep in the heart of the tower of steel and concrete a lion-roar went into silence. "God," Garth whispered. "Dear God." His voice was cracked and chipped and lined with pain. His head slumped forward, rested on the table. Behind him there was a tiny creak as a door opened. He lifted his head to stare dully at the person who stood there. "Stella? I thought I told you I didn't need a secretary any longer, to write yourself a check and go away?" "Yes, Mr. Garth." She came forward holding a tray. "But I think you need me now more than ever. And so I stayed. I will leave if you order it." He stared at her. She wasn't pretty, or he had never thought she was. But on her face at this moment was something that made her beautiful. Her eyes were filled with a deep glowing. He remembered the years she had been his secretary, the years of hard work perfectly performed. If they worked until midnight, she had never complained. Summer, winter, spring, and autumn. Why she had never had a vacation! But then Lee Garth had never had a vacation. He didn't know what the word meant. He stared at her, at the radiant glowing that was transforming her. "But--but you must not stay here. You _must not_. Don't you understand? This is the end." She set the tray in front of him. "You must eat something. You haven't had a good meal in weeks. Here is a sandwich and a glass of milk." He was vaguely aware of a gnawing in his stomach, a persistent ache. "Why--thanks--Yes, I am hungry!" He looked at the tray. The door creaked as she left the room. He wolfed the food. He turned again to the table in front of him. He pressed buttons.