She opened the door at room C and stood silently. There were three people in the room: Mr. Hershey, the co-ordinator, and a man and a woman; she did not need to be told that the man and woman were Clyde's parents. "Come in, Margy," Mr. Hershey said kindly, but Margy couldn't move. She looked around the room; and a corner, she thought, would be nice to hide in, if it was dark, and whoever was looking for her didn't have a light. But it was all over, and she was sick, and it was too much trouble to try to hide again. Without raising his voice, the other man said, not unkindly, "Where's your adult band, Margy?" Her eyes were listless and defeated. They did not glance toward her left upper arm. Automatically she said, "I can't wear one, yet." "How old are you, Margy?" the woman said. "I'm--I'm sixteen. Almost seventeen. Yes, I'm almost seventeen." Mr. Hershey said softly, "I'm sorry, Margy. There will have to be tests." She stiffened almost imperceptibly. Clyde's mother bent forward. "Why don't you admit you're as old as I am?" she said. "No, no, no," Margy moaned. "I'm not! I'm not! I'm _not_!" "Now, now...." "Let me alone!" Margy said. "Let me alone!" She felt life flow back into her empty body. "Why won't you ever let me alone?" Mr. Hershey pushed a button. "I don't hurt you," Margy said. And her eyes were wild, now, and her mouth twisted in shame and anguish. "I don't hurt anybody." She began to sob. "Please," she choked. "I just want to be young. That's all right, isn't it, to want to be young? That's all I want. Honest, that's all." Mr. Hershey spoke softly into the phone. "Could you send over a couple of men? I'm afraid we've got another Revert for you." "I don't hurt anybody," she said tonelessly. "It's no crime to want to be young. Why don't you let me alone ... let me alone ... alone ... alone?" And then she fell silent, her body shaking with repressed sobs as she stood in the doorway and waited for the two men to come and take her away.