_George approached through the mists, his ectoplasm disheveled and drooping. As he moved toward the sentry station it was all too apparent that here was a shade in low spirits._ _"George Pillsworth, spiritual part of the mortal Marc Pillsworth reporting in from leave," he announced listlessly._ _The sentry, a gross spectre of the lower sort, jutted his head out of the opening. "Hot dawg!" he said. "Wait'll the Council gets a load of you!"_ _George looked up wearily. "What do you mean by that?" he asked._ _"Just after you took off, word came through that Pillsworth was as hail and hearty as health biscuits. They've been waiting up for you ever since. Boy, are you in for a welcome!_" _George shrugged and sighed heavily. "Back to the Moaning Chorus, I suppose?" he said._ _"You know it, brother," the sentry nodded, and leaning forward he swung the gates open in a wide gesture. "Pass on, George Pillsworth, spiritual part of the mortal Marc Pillsworth. Come and get it, kid."_ _George drifted disconsolately through the gates and toward the Council Chambers which loomed large and formidable through the swirling mists ahead. Slowly, softly he began to hum to himself, a tune of great melancholy and gentle discord. He paused, hummed the tune again._ _"Not bad," he mused, "not bad at all. With a little arranging it might go over big."_ _Humming the tune again, he resumed toward the chambers. He shrugged, dusted his ectoplasm and smoothed it down._ _Now that he stopped to think about it he was sort of relieved to be back. Certainly the Moaning Chorus couldn't be any more exhausting than what he'd just gone through on Earth. And, coming right down to it, those humans down there were beginning to get a little spooky lately...._