"Just look at you. Look. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this!" "Deserve what, Mother? What am I doing that's so wrong?" Mary's mind rippled in a confused stream. "What!" Mrs. Cuberle screamed, _"What!_ Do you think I want people to point to you and say I'm the mother of an idiot? That's what they'll say, you'll see. Or," she looked up hopefully, "have you changed your mind?" "No." The vague reasons, longing to be put into words. "It doesn't hurt. They just take off a little skin and put some on and give you pills and electronic treatments and things like that. It doesn't take more than a week." "No." The reason. "Don't you want to be beautiful, like other people--like me? Look at your friend Shala, she's getting her Transformation next month. And _she's_ almost pretty now." "Mother, I don't care--" "If it's the bones you're worried about, well, that doesn't hurt. They give you a shot and when you wake up, everything's moulded right. Everything, to suit the personality." "I don't care, I don't care." "But _why_?" "I like me the way I am." Almost--almost exactly. But not quite. Part of it, however. Part of what Daddy and Grandpa meant. "But you're so ugly, dear! Like Dr. Hortel said. And Mr. Willmes, at the factory. He told some people he thought you were the ugliest girl he'd ever seen. Says he'll be thankful when you have your Transformation. And what if he hears of all this, what'll happen then?" "Daddy said I was beautiful." "Well really, dear. You _do_ have eyes." "Daddy said that real beauty is only skin deep. He said a lot of things like that and when I read the books I felt the same way. I guess I don't want to look like everybody else, that's all." No, that's not it. Not at all it. "That man had too much to do with you. You'll notice that he had _his_ Transformation, though!" "But he was sorry. He told me that if he had it to do over again, he'd never do it. He said for me to be stronger than he was." "Well, I won't have it. You're not going to get away with this, young lady. After all, I _am_ your mother." A bulb flickered in the bathroom and Mrs. Cuberle walked uncertainly to the cabinet. She took out a little cardboard box. "Time for lunch." Mary nodded. That was another thing the books talked about, which the tapes did not. Lunch seemed to be something special long ago, or at least different. The books talked of strange ways of putting a load of things into the mouth and chewing these things. Enjoying them. Strange and somehow wonderful. "And you'd better get ready for work." "Yes, Mother." The office was quiet and without shadows. The walls gave off a steady luminescence, distributed the light evenly upon all the desks and tables. And it was neither hot nor cold.