“Why six months?” she smiled. “Because I have the company’s interest at heart. Otherwise we’d have to pay the full death benefit. If he’s on the payroll after six months the insurance company must assume the responsibility. His salary will be much less than the death benefit. He’s dead. Nothing we can do will bring him back. We may as well save some money.” The logic was acceptable, but she had the wrong man. He groaned in frustration and the sound escaped as a muffled protest from his tortured and burned throat. Instantly the nurse reappeared. “That’s all, Miss Farrell. He’ll rest better for knowing what happened. But I think you’ve told him enough.” Randy bent over. “Everything’s all right,” she whispered. “Get well.” And then the nurse found an unbandaged region on his right shoulder and jabbed him. He ceased to feel or hear anything. It was that way for the next few days, a dim and shadowy routine which he was vaguely and occasionally aware of. From time to time he felt stronger but the nurse had a needle ready and always used it. They intended to make certain that he did not prematurely exert himself. Finally a day came when the nurse wasn’t there. It had apparently been decided that he was ready to rejoin the living. He lay motionless on the bed, staring down at his folded arms. His right hand was bandaged; his left was not. He raised both hands to his face. The bandages were fewer, lighter than before. Sooner or later, he told himself, the bandages would have to come off. Then what? Then the truth would be known to everyone. Still, he wasn’t in an enviable position. He had gone at such an early hour to Soleri’s office that no one had seen him. He had only Soleri’s word as to his honesty of purpose--and Soleri was dead. Randy had made things worse with her silly attempt to hush things up. He was in a serious mess--and had no way of knowing what was going to come out of it. He got up shakily. He had made up his mind. He must leave the hospital. He knew it was foolish, but that didn’t stop him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and found to his relief that he could stand. He teetered precariously for an instant and then stood upright. There was a closet on the opposite side of the room. He wobbled toward it, wrenched the door open. It contained a robe but no clothes. As he braced himself in the doorway he caught sight of his face in the mirror on the back of the door. His brow was gleaming with perspiration and his eyes glittered darkly in the expanse of white. The bandages would have to come off. It was painful but not as bad as he had thought it might be. He found an edge and pried at the masklike plaster. The bandages came off in one piece. His raw skin burned as air came in contact with it. It stung and burned, but he scarcely noticed the pain. He stared at his reflection.