It made a good story because only three hundred deaths had been predicted. The bottom half of the page was filled with pictures of the victims and the spouses who "lead them on, knowing at the time that over forty percent of the heart attacks in men and women over thirty-five are brought on by sexual relations." Sally was leaning over him, serving his plate with scrambled eggs and ham, but he tried to ignore her and turned to the next page. Here was an editorial by the Department of Health. He scanned it. Same old thing. Sex to be avoided like poison by all persons, male and female, over thirty-five years. Chuck forked a piece of soya bread, and swabbed the last of ham grease and egg from his plate. He sat drinking his soya hot chocolate, and wanting a cigarette. Sally finished eating, stretched, and the nylon threatened to rip. She went and got his suit coat and hat. At the door he tried to kiss her goodbye in his best "big brother" manner. But she clinched in close, and suddenly he didn't feel like a brother. She whispered in his ear, "Come on back. I'll call and tell them you caught a virus!" He almost took off his hat. Then he said, "You know it would show up in my weekly S-Count!" He shuddered just saying the words. God! how he hated that! He continued, "And if I slip once or twice on that, you know what they do." Feeling sorry for her, he added half-heartedly, "But you're only thirty. And I wouldn't blame you.... Lot of people do, you know." She leaned back, still in his arms, and laughed up at him. "No, I'll wait and break you down!" "Even knowing what they're likely to do?" "But surely! Then at least the temptation wouldn't be so handy!" He walked rapidly toward the office. Other groups walked along talking and laughing. Here and there someone called to him. He came to U.S. 75, a deserted graying eight lane strip. As he started across, a bike came over the rise and he dived into the ditch. But it was only a Catholic priest pedalling furiously along on a girl's bicycle. Then there had been another clash! He climbed out of the ditch, and walked a ways down the highway. There it was. The priest was just climbing off the bike, and there was a motorcycle cop. Chuck Dane walked up the highway to the scene and stood watching. The priest was kneeling, his black bag open, administering last rites to the two youths. The cop, fat and redfaced, came over and stood beside Chuck. "Two less Teenagers!" he grinned. "Dying, eh?" Chuck asked. "Dying or dead! These damn kids!" He said it with just a tinge of envy. The Father snapped his bag shut, and pedalled away. Chuck went over for a closer look. Both of the kids were on roller skates, the powered kind. Chuck Dane noted with satisfaction that they were Airex skates.