Mollified, Nodus said "I'll wait till you pull yourself together. Meanwhile, you may like to know that of the records my dealer sends me--and he knows my taste, mind you--I keep one in eight. And that one I exchange, on the average, three times before I find a copy I can admit...." Woodard wanted desperately to concentrate. Here was something solid to work on. Did Nodus keep one record in eleven, or one in twenty-four? It depended, of course, on whether x equalled 8 _plus_ 3 or 8 _times_ 3. Surely one should be able--but he was straining beyond his limit. It was as if some mental spine, which in a past existence had sustained him, were numbed or missing. Nodus was staring. So, with an odd, expectant smile, was the girl. To show that his wits had never left him, Woodard blurted out, "The composer never intended the music to sound like this!" "Like what?" "The partitas were all wrong!" Now his voice kept breaking. "A composer--and a performer--should have _some_ say--not be fed into equipment like this and--and...." Another paroxysm prevented his concluding: "and used to start sinuses running." "I haven't played the partitas yet, Woodard." That stopped the cough. Not played them? Then why did he feel--He found himself thinking with curious gentleness of the guests at the hotel who mocked nature with their complaints. And vast as his sudden pity was for them, it was vaster still for himself. But he tried to latch onto one worthwhile thought: I have nothing to fear but fear itself. "Nineteen and a half minutes." Relentlessly Nodus lowered the arm. * * * * * Woodard tried clinging to the worthwhile thought. But it kept shimmering off in the dissolving world. It wouldn't come right. I have nothing to fear but all mankind, he kept hearing. And maybe it was better that way; at least he knew. Finally he asked himself: How did I get into this? I who always kept myself to myself to myself to myself.... Oh he was whirling, whirling, and no one could count his r's p.m. ... myself to myself to.... He slumped unconscious in his chair. Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds of partitas had elapsed. Nodus so remarked to Russ, who made note. And the concert continued. But there is small point in detailing Nodus' accounts, as sensibly delivered as before, of the various selections: how he explained his choice of "Bendermeer's Stream" as a follow-up to the partitas; his apologies for the surface scratches that made the Valkyries' ride sound unlubricated; his cautionings about what to look for in the "Romeo and Juliet Overture"; his meticulous timing of these and the other recordings. Thirty-six minutes and twenty seconds after Woodard's cerebral disintegration came his impalpabilization.