Joyce closed her eyes, too. She strained to hear, feel, sense something of what was passing between the priest and Gregrill. Surely, if she strained hard enough, she would catch some echo, some aura. But the air defied her; she was deaf, blind, insensate; she was cut off irrevocably from this higher level of communication. Perhaps their children.... "He is saying the words now," Gregrill whispered in her ear. "You two together ... comfort each other ... against the darkness and the drought ... through the long dry misery of winter ... when the water is locked and nothing grows ... till the glad day of rain and running streams ... you two together ... comfort each other...." "Say yes, my darling," Gregrill told her. "Yes, yes! Oh, yes!" They were outside, striding exultantly through the sunshine, the light wind tossing their hair, and the words kept singing to her: "Through the long dry misery of winter ... till the glad day of rain...." Oh, yes, Greg! Yes! When they reached the spaceship, their bags had already been taken to their stateroom, unpacked, the clothing arranged in the dressers--the meticulous work of the Venusian stewards. Even the bedcovers were turned down, her nightgown laid out. "Greg," she said in a rush of embarrassment, "let's go out and watch the ... watch how we take off." "You go, and I shall join you soon," he said. "I must wash and anoint myself as a bridegroom." Joyce went down the corridor into the observation rotunda. The huge semicircular window was cluttered with jabbering passengers. She squeezed in among them, but she stayed only a moment. She pushed her way back out and went to a table near the head of the corridor, and waited restlessly for him. Midway down the corridor, a Venusian steward, a scrawny little gray-skinned, long-beaked fellow, was running a cleaning machine over the floor. She smiled at him, but he turned his face shyly away. And then Gregrill came, moving up the corridor with his lithe, magnificent grace. His wet hair glistened. "Greg, you look wonderful!" she cried, instantly aware of how foolish she sounded. He speeded his steps. He didn't see the cleaning hose in his path. The Venusian moved quickly to pull it aside, but it caught Gregrill's foot. He stumbled, caught himself on the corridor rail. Swiftly he turned, his arm swung out, his forearm slammed against the jaw of the little Venusian, sending him crashing down against his cleaning machine. Gregrill looked down at him a moment. Then he turned, gave Joyce a broad smile and walked to her table. "Greg." Her throat was dry. "Why did you do that? He didn't mean it." "It is his duty to avoid such accidents," Gregrill said. "But look, he's still lying there. Let's go help him." "Leave him there," he said. "He is only a Venusian." "Only a--?" "Venusian." His lips curled. "They are the scum of the Solar System." The tremor that went through her was lost in the thrust of the jets as the ship took off.