He started toward the street between the buildings. But the female gave an almost-shriek and the two pogoshuffled pitifully away. He felt something grasp his arm. He turned in fear and involuntary loathing, but it was only the nurse (the one he did not wish to think about). She was crying and shaking like a leaf. She was not what narrow men might call pretty. . .but to see her there with her hair and eyes and skin unblemished was like water at a last dying need. A breath of the free air beyond that place came back to him, and with it, like a sob, a final desperate hope of courage and the need to act. He remembered they were wearing masks; how would they..... But seeing the hoop at her ear brought it back. He embraced her quickly and said through the microphone. "I am searching for my wife. Will you help me?" She nodded rapidly and clung to his arm. They began to move. Some member of the party called to them but they walked slowly down the street toward a large square, where a whitestone marble building at the farther end was built like the Parthenon Library at Athena. Why it had been built and by whom (by the Alliance, to show their humane and considerate treatment of the prisoners) he did not know or care. If it was also a library then perhaps there would be records. It was a feeble thought, but it drew him on because he had no other. As his heart pounded unbearably he heard the same prayer repeated over and over inside him. DEAR GOD FORGIVE ME I KNOW I AM SELFISH BUT PLEASE DEAR GOOD PLEASE IF I MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU DON'T LET HER BE HERE. I WILL DO ANYTHING JUST DON'T LET HER BE HERE. Then almost against his will the post script, BUT IF SHE IS HERE MAY SHE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NOT HAVE BEEN TORTURED AND AT LEAST BE DEAD NOW. "No, no!" Almost he started to run, but the weight at his arm checked him fiercely. The girl stood still with terror in her eyes, and pointed to a figure at the top of the marble steps. An old man with graying hair, not so horrible as the rest but still dreadful to look upon, stood by another who lay sprawled at his feet on the steps. Something red stood out clearly against the marble and Brunner saw that it was blood, coming from an open wound in the prostrate man. There was blood also on the knife the old man clutched awkwardly in his left hand. If the two had still been human, the scene might have been tragic---something from the epics of Homer. But as it was it was ghastly and brutal, the afterglow of a vicious reptilian death struggle. The standing man's jaw was torn to one side, exposing teeth the size of walnuts.