"That's the second time you've said that. What is this all--" "Said what?" "Mama. Look, kid, if you're--" "I didn't." She appeared a little feverish. "Sure you did," said Len reasonably. "Once when you were looking at the baby book, and then again just now, after you said ugh to the highball. Speaking of which--" "_Mama drink milk_," said Moira, speaking with exaggerated clarity. Moira hated milk. Len swallowed half his highball, turned and went silently into the kitchen. When he came back with the milk, Moira looked at it as if it contained a snake. "Len, I didn't say that." "Okay." "I didn't. I didn't say mama and I didn't say that about the milk." Her voice quavered. "And I didn't laugh at you when you fell down." Len tried to be patient. "It was somebody else." "It _was_." She looked down at her gingham-covered bulge. "You won't believe me. Put your hand there. No, a little lower." Under the cloth, her flesh was warm and solid against his palm. "Kicks?" he inquired. "Not yet. Now," she said in a strained voice, "you in there--if you want your milk, kick three times." Len opened his mouth and shut it again. Under his hand there were three explicit kicks, one after the other. Moira closed her eyes, held her breath and drank the milk down in one long horrid gulp. * * * * * "Once in a great while," Moira read, "cell cleavage will not have followed the orderly pattern that produces a normal baby. In these rare cases some parts of the body will develop excessively, while others do not develop at all. This disorderly cell growth, which is strikingly similar to the wild cell growth that we know as cancer--" Her shoulders moved convulsively in a shudder. "_Bluh!_" "Why do you keep reading that stuff, if it makes you feel that way?" "I have to," she said absently. She picked up another book from the stack. "There's a page missing." Len attacked the last of his medium-boiled egg in a noncommittal manner. "It's a wonder it's held together this long," he said, which was perfectly just. The book had had something spilled on it, partially dissolving the glue, and was in an advanced state of anarchy. However, the fact was that Len had torn out the page in question four nights ago, after reading it carefully. The topic was "Psychoses in Pregnancy." Moira had now decided that the baby was male, that his name was Leonardo (not referring to Len, but to da Vinci), that he had informed her of these things along with a good many others, that he was keeping her from her favorite foods and making her eat things she detested, like liver and tripe, and that she had to read books of his choice all day long in order to keep him from kicking.