The nights were cool and pleasant, with deep shadows along the tree-lined streets and the street lights filtering through the treetops, dappling the silent fronts of the houses. They strolled along, slowly, their arms around each other, Gwyn's body pressed close to his. "I like a small town," Gwyn murmured softly, one night. "'Specially at night--so peaceful, so cozy." "I like the dark," Morrow said. "Why?" "I don't know. It changes things. It's a different world." She looked up at him, wonderingly. "I think of a small town. You think of a different world. Why is that, Bill?" "You're tired, maybe." He grinned down at her. "You've been on your feet eight hours." "That makes me think of a small town?" "Contentment," he said. "Small towns are contented." "And a different world--that's exciting, isn't it?" "Sometimes it's dangerous." "I see." She was quiet for a while. Then, "I never asked you where you were from, did I?" "No." "Small town? Or city." The latter held conviction. He chuckled. "You're not even warm! Casa Verde, Arizona. A cluster of shacks in the middle of a desert, with sand-stone cliffs rising like mountains of the moon everywhere you looked, and black buzzards circling in a hot, brassy sky--" She shuddered. "It sounds terrible." "--And beautiful." He murmured it, gently. "We left when I was six years old. No schools there." "Then--you're _from_ a different world, is that it?" "You might say that." "Strange. We're two utterly different people, aren't we, Bill?" She was gazing up at him, studying his features, watching the dappled light and shadows play over them. Morrow sensed that he was on perilous ground. He said nothing. "You aren't happy here, are you, Bill?" she spoke almost in a whisper. "You never will be!" "Most men I've met are--searching for something," he replied hesitantly. "But they don't devote all their time to it," she protested. "They at least manage to live fairly normal lives and raise families--" "Do two utterly different people--" He broke off, leaving the question unspoken. _But we're down to brass tacks, now_, he mused. _We just don't feel the same way about things!_ Why was that? "Look," he said, almost gruffly. "I think of a different world--let's stick to that point, for now. You think of a small town. But then, why do you read science-fiction?" She frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean?" "Well, isn't that a 'different world?'" "But it's _fiction_. I don't think of reality--" He smiled gravely. "You don't think there are horrible monsters lurking in the corners, or little people in the wallpaper, or strange eyes floating around watching you--" "If I did, I'd be in a booby-hatch!"