The fog swirled shut about him, and Emrys sank into his personal miasma of sleep. When he woke up, late that afternoon, he knew from the dank odor clinging to the bedclothes that it had not been a dream, that the priests, the "gods," the "immortals" of Morethis could, as they professed--and even he had not believed them in this--project their minds far through space ... though, fortunately, not their bodies, or they would not have needed him. He remembered then the vial of tiny golden pellets Uvrei had given him before he left Morethis, and took one. Perhaps that was what the ancient one had meant. At any rate, Emrys thought he felt better afterward. He examined his body in the mirror to see if bruises had come, but the tawny, muscle-rippled flesh was unmarked. At length he put on his clothes and, leaving the hotel, went to a jeweler, where he bought a costly bracelet to be sent to the girl of the night before. Such a grandiose gesture relieved him--he had always felt--of all further obligation. He did not wish to repeat his experience with the liquor, so he did not go to a bar. He had no friends on Earth--nor could he have acknowledged them if he had. He did not wish to repeat his disappointment of the previous night, so he did not seek female companionship--although it was obvious from the eyes of the women he passed that he would have no difficulty whenever he changed his mind. But what should he do? What did young men do with their leisure, he tried to remember, when they had nothing but leisure? * * * * * He dined alone, finally, on a variety of rare terrestrial foods that did not taste quite as he expected, and went to the theater. The play was one he had seen a hundred times before under a hundred different names on many different planets. He went then to a nightclub, but it was crowded and noisy, and the girls did not excite him. Going back to the hotel, he found that sleep, at least, came easily. _But I did not_, he thought, _do what I did merely for the sake of a good night's rest._ The third day, he wandered into a museum. He found himself less bored than he had expected. Perhaps culture would be most therapeutic for him until he reached his ultimate adjustments. Accordingly, he went from the museum to a revival of a nineteenth-century opera. He didn't like it; in fact, it disturbed him so much that he left before the final curtain and walked through the streets for hours, until he ran into a girl who was also walking the streets, and went home with her.