"Right," Albin said. "You are right. You are absolutely, incredibly, stunningly right. And to prove how right you are I'm going to do you a favor." "What kind of favor?" the girl said with mock suspicion. "Greta," Albin said, "I'm going to introduce you to a nice young man." "You don't know any nice young men." "I know this one," Albin said. "Greta Forzane, Johnny Dodd. Take good care of him, kiddo--he needs it." "What do you mean, good care of him?" she said. But Albin was gone, into the main body of the party, a melee confused enough so that he was lost in twenty steps. Greta turned back almost hopeless eyes. A second passed. "You a friend of Cendar's?" Greta asked. Johnny blinked and came back to her. "Oh, Albin?" he said. "We're--acquaintances." "Friends," Greta said firmly. "That's nice. He's such a nice guy--I bet you are, too." She smiled and took his arm. Her hand was slightly warm and very dry. Johnny took his first real look at her: she seemed shining, somehow, as if the hair had been lacquered, the face sprayed with a clear polish. The picture she made was vaguely unpleasant, and a little threatening. "A nice guy?" he said. "I wouldn't know, Miss Forzane." "Oh, come on, now," she said. "The name is Greta. And you're Johnny--right?" " ... Right." "You know," Greta said, "you're cute." Behind her the party was still going on, but its volume seemed to have diminished a little. Or maybe, Johnny thought, he was getting used to it. "You're cute too," he said awkwardly, not knowing any more what he did want to do, or where he wanted to be. Her grasp on his arm was the main fact in the world. "Thanks," she said. "Here." And as suddenly as that she was in his arms, plastered up against him, pressed to him as tightly as he could imagine, her mouth on his, her hands locked behind his neck: he was choking, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move.... The door behind him opened and shoved him gently across his back. He fell, and he fell on top of her. It seemed as if the entire party had stopped to watch him. There was no noise. There was no sound at all. He climbed to his feet to face the eyes and found they were not on him, but behind him. A tiny white-haired woman stood there, her mouth one thin line of disapproval. "Well," she said. "Having a good time?" * * * * * In Dodd's mind, then and later, the sign began. That was, as far as he could ever remember, the first second he had even seen it. It was there, behind his eyes, blinking on and off, like a neon sign. Sometimes he paid no attention to it, but it was always there, always telling him the same thing. _This is the end._ _This is the end._ _This is the end._ He looked into that ancient grim face and the sign began. And from then on it never stopped, never stopped at all-- Until, of course, the end. * * * * * PUBLIC OPINION ONE