"You're too damned smart!" Lantry was out of the chair. He was half way to the other man when McClure rolled over and scuttled away, flinging the sherry decanter. With a great despair Lantry realized that, like a damned idiot, he had thrown away his one chance to kill McClure. He should have done it earlier. It had been Lantry's one weapon, his safety margin. If people in a society never _killed_ each other, they never _suspected_ one another. You could walk up to any one of them and kill him. "Come back here!" Lantry threw the knife. McClure got behind a chair. The idea of flight, of protection, of fighting, was still new to him. He had part of the idea, but there was still a bit of luck on Lantry's side if Lantry wanted to use it. "Oh, no," said McClure, holding the chair between himself and the advancing man. "You want to kill me. It's odd, but true. I can't understand it. You want to cut me with that knife or something like that, and it's up to me to prevent you from doing such an odd thing." "I _will_ kill you!" Lantry let it slip out. He cursed himself. That was the worst possible thing to say. Lantry lunged across the chair, clutching at McClure. McClure was very logical. "It won't do you any good to kill me. You _know_ that." They wrestled and held each other in a wild, toppling shuffle. Tables fell over, scattering articles. "You remember what happened in the morgue?" "I don't care!" screamed Lantry. "You didn't raise _those_ dead, did you?" "I don't care!" cried Lantry. "Look here," said McClure, reasonably. "There will never be any more like you, ever, there's no use." "Then I'll destroy all of you, all of you!" screamed Lantry. "And then what? You'll still be alone, with no more like you about." "I'll go to Mars. They have tombs there. I'll find more like myself!" "No," said McClure. "The executive order went through yesterday. All of the tombs are being deprived of their bodies. They'll be burned in the next week." They fell together to the floor. Lantry got his hands on McClure's throat. "Please," said McClure. "Do you see, you'll _die_." "What do you mean?" cried Lantry. "Once you kill all of us, and you're alone, you'll die! The hate will die. That hate is what moves you, _nothing else_! That envy moves you. Nothing else! You'll die, inevitably. You're not immortal. You're not even alive, you're nothing but a moving hate." "I don't care!" screamed Lantry, and began choking the man, beating his head with his fists, crouched on the defenseless body. McClure looked up at him with dying eyes. The front door opened. Two men came in. "I say," said one of them. "What's going on? A new game?" Lantry jumped back and began to run. "Yes, a new game!" said McClure, struggling up. "Catch him and you win!" The two men caught Lantry. "We win," they said. "Let me go!" Lantry thrashed, hitting them across their faces, bringing blood. "Hold him tight!" cried McClure. They held him.