She came walking toward him backwards, stopped, turned, and smiled radiantly. She spoke, and her talk was the same nonsensical chattering. Darrel blinked. The girl had just been standing there, standing still, when a crumpled-up piece of paper flew up from the ground and into her hand--magically. With a rustling sound, the paper opened in her hand like a flower unfolding. She held it out to him. There was writing on it. It was intelligible. Darrel grasped the paper. Stunned, he read it again. "I love you, Darrel," it said. "You have lost your memory of me by this time, I know. We understood this yesterday, you and I, perfectly. Now, as we are drawn further apart from each other, I remember and you do not yet know. Ours is a strange and sad union, Darrel." It made no sense. None whatever. Darrel rubbed his ear vigorously. Dammit! There was intimacy in this note. It seemed to suggest that they had a mutual past and that he had forgotten it or--did not yet know. What did it all mean? He looked helplessly at the girl. She was sitting beside him now, on the bench, writing, it seemed, on the sheet of paper he had just read. He twisted his head to watch ... and found himself staring in fascination. The pen in the girl's hand glided rapidly over the page. Everything normal except that it began at the bottom of the page, moving from end to the beginning of the message, _erasing_ as it went! One by one the letters and words disappeared under the swift strokes of the pen until the sheet was clean and unblemished. Then the girl placed it in her bag. Darrel relaxed. "What the devil...." There! It happened again. A ball of paper, defying all familiar physical laws, leaped from the ground beside the bench and flew into the girl's outstretched hand. It unfolded as her hand opened, and she held it out, smiling sadly all the while. "It is true then," the note said. "You have forgotten. I am Leyloon." Leyloon? Leyloon? Her name, of course. Darrel strained to remember a Leyloon. There was no such name in his memory tract. He looked hard at the girl, at Leyloon. She was ethereal. He would _like_ to have memories of her. He didn't though. But he was _supposed_ to remember her. Leyloon, Leyloon. No ... his brain held no recollections of this girl except that yesterday she came up to the ship and ... but _yesterday_, the first note had said, he had understood perfectly. He scratched his head furiously. Yesterday he had been more completely at a loss than he was today! He hadn't known of this city, where everything went in reverse, he hadn't known the girl's name ... he hadn't known anything! The girl erased the note with reverse writing strokes of the pen. She smiled strangely, said, "Noolyel," and nodded.