Worse, it got worse instead of better. Where a clever effects-director might have started with the heavy sophisticated scent and switched to something lighter and airier as Jane was moved away from civilization, this one had done it backwards for some absolutely ridiculous reason. It finally got strong enough to distract me out of my characterization, and I came back to reality to realize once more that reality had been strong enough to cut into the concentration level of a halluscene. There was strong woman-presence in my room, and as I looked around I found that Tomboy Taylor had come in--just as Gimpy Gordon had--and was sitting in the other halluscene chair. She was probably playing Lady Jane to my Tarzan. Tomboy Taylor had changed to a short-skirted, low-necked cocktail dress; relaxed with her eyes closed in my halluscene chair she looked lovely. She looked as vulnerable as a soft kitten. Remembering that it's the soft vulnerable ones that claw you if you touch, I refrained. I went to my little bar and refilled my highball glass because swinging through the jungle makes one thirsty, and while I was pouring I took a sly peek into Tomboy Taylor's mind. She was not halluscening. She was watching me. And when I made contact with her, she radiated a sort of overall aura of amusement-emotion, covered up her conscious deliberation, and blocked any probing by directing me mentally, "Make it two, Wally." I built her one, handed it to her, and then said, "Folks these days sure have forgotten how to use doorbells." "If you don't want people coming in, Wally, you should restrict your mindwarden a little. It's set to admit anybody who does not approach the door with vigorous intent to commit grave physical harm. When the thing radiates 'Come in and relax' is a girl supposed to stand outside twiggling on the doorbell?" I dropped the subject thinking that maybe I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. It's one that can't be answered by logic, whereas a firm emotional statement of like or dislike stops all counter-argument and I'd made the mistake of questioning my own judgment. So I eyed her and said, "Tomboy, you did not come here to indulge in small talk." "No," she admitted. "I'm here to keep track of you, Wally." "Oh?" "Our great and good friend wants me to make notes on how clever you are at arranging things." "You mean Barcelona sent you." "That's about it." I looked at her askance. "And how long are you going to stay?" She smiled. "Until Flying Heels, Moonbeam, and Lady Grace come across the finish line One, Two, and Three at Churchill Downs on Derby Day." I grinned at her. "Considering that trio of turtles, Tomboy, it may be for years and it may be forever." She held up her glass in a sort of a toast. "Or," she said, "'Til death do us part!" A little bitterly I said, "One might think that Barcelona doesn't trust me."