Martin’s body fell from the wheelchair and lay, a shapeless mound of real clay on the floor, as though released from some overmastering compulsion. Was he dead--or just paralyzed? It was no concern of Hall’s. His concern had never been with men. He managed to get up and half fell toward the door. A feeling of uselessness was taking hold of him. His efficiency was now gravely impaired. He wasn’t even aware that someone was standing just outside the door. Hall glanced at Donna, still waiting for the love he could never give her. Still waiting for some perfect host to supply the substance of all her childhood dreams of a glorious, all-consuming love.... It would be better with a human being, real.... Once she had almost made Hall feel human. But that had been a long time ago. He opened the door. Schor was standing there, his hands in his topcoat pockets, a little hunched man with an owl’s face and snow on his eyebrows. Behind him was an official Security car, and two Security officers stood at the foot of the porch steps with their guns ready. Schor held Hall in his arms, and patted his back with a slow, deep affection. “I came out anyway, Hall,” he said, his voice husky. “Thought you might need me for this last show. I wanted to come.” _I won’t be working with him again_, Hall thought. Friendship ended when his task was done. “If you’d arrived a minute earlier it would have killed you,” Hall said. “It had more power than any fifty of the others.” Schor essayed an anxious laugh. “Sure, I know. I’m only human.” “Well--all your worries are over,” Hall said. “Are the remains taken care of, Hall?” Hall nodded. “Like the others. A few more minutes and there won’t be any trace of him except a charcoal gray suit.” “Convenient,” Schor said. “I’m referring, of course, to that built in, self-incinerating device.” “Very,” Hall acknowledged. The Security officers were coming in. Someone was using a phone ... announcing that Martin was dead. Hall heard Donna moan vaguely and he was glad she was alive. No. 999 was a melting pile against the wall, fading away. Hall started limping down the steps. “Where are you going?” Schor asked quickly. “My wife wants you to--” “Tell her good-bye,” Hall said, abruptly. Schor’s face had a painful expression. He whispered. “Don’t go. It isn’t over. Listen. You can keep on working--together with me, Hall. You can hunt men just as well as--” “No,” Hall said. “Only men should hunt men.” When Schor left him, Hall continued to crawl through the snow until he was well away from Martin’s house. The snow thickened as he crawled on until he was lost among the dark naked trees by a frozen creek. He could see nothing but a wilderness of falling snow. He stood there as the snow fell more thickly, covering him over gradually until he blended into the pale silence. Then he pressed the button. A moment later he was melting slowly away like a snowman reacting to some private sun of its own.