Of course he hadn't dropped into any black abyss of unconsciousness; he'd merely stumbled and fallen from sheer nervousness. And a damned thick bit of business it was too. It made you look like a fool. As a matter of fact, now that he had a moment to collect his thoughts, he'd had quite enough of this prosey nonsense and he was fully prepared to assert himself against it. He got up, brushed himself off with careful deliberation, and turned defiantly to his companions. "Look, you two," he said firmly, "I'm sick and tired of this childish sketch, and it's about time you knew it. You can go on with all the melodramatic clap-trap you like, but for my part I'm...." The rest of it jammed up tight in his throat. The two were not listening; in fact they were no longer in any condition to listen, even if they wanted to. They stood frozen, transfixed in positions of action--and jarringly two-dimensional! They were precisely like life-sized cardboard cut-outs of themselves. They stood, supported by heaven only knew what means, staring at the spot where he had fallen. But that wasn't the worst of it. They were incomplete representations of themselves into the bargain. Neither of them had mouths; the woman's face was simply a sketched outline, Mario's a drawing of an irregular lump of putty. Fleetwood stared at them; he didn't know what he had expected--perhaps that they would be transformed like himself. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. He looked about. The room had become a vague, unreal area in time, containing only a fireplace, a divan and two doorways. Looking on its clouded grey confines, he felt himself hovering crazily between fact and fancy. But this time he wasn't puzzled or frightened by the sensation. Turning, he forced himself to move against the room and away from it, out of the house. It was hard to make progress in a world where space and distance stretched and contracted in alternate convulsions, where substance did not exist upon which to gain a footing.... * * * * * "Well for Pete's sake!" Kitty sputtered. "So you came back!" Fleetwood glanced up and shook his head. She was gazing at him from across the counter. "Uh-huh," he said vaguely. "Well, you still owe me ten cents." She held out her hand. "The way you pop in and out of here like you were magic, I'm not taking any more chances. Pay up." Fleetwood fished about in his pocket and, much to his own surprise, withdrew a coin. He held it out for Kitty's critical inspection. "Four bits," she said. "I'll bring you your change." She went to the cash register and, after the necessary manipulations, returned with three smaller coins. "I had you figured for a deadbeat," she said. "I'm sorry." "It's okay Kitty," Fleetwood said. "Kitty?" she said, then shrugged. "Well, okay, I guess." Fleetwood gazed at her absently, his mind on other things for a moment.