"He'll outlive me," she said, more glumly than ever. I knew she could not predict past the span of her own life. "And how long is that?" I needled. "You can count my time in years, but not enough of them," she said, irritated that I had asked her about her own span. I knew I shouldn't have said it. She had read her own future and found it wanting. "But death hovers close in it," she went on. "You know I don't get clear pictures, Lefty, just a feeling. Death is very, very close. And you are in it." "And who else?" I pressed her. "No one I ever met," she said, telling me another limitation of her powers. "Perhaps I can cure that, Evaleen," I said, letting the last ball drop. More loudly I added: "You get better every day. You could qualify for the second degree if you can do as well under standardized conditions." "Yes," she agreed. "We've talked enough. You will act on it?" "Oddly," I said, "I already have. You confirm what another PC says. I'll have you meet her." "You will not," she said. "I can't stand PC's!" "Now try that big one," I said, pointing to a small brass weight of two grams on the table. She touched it and it lifted. She cried out in pleasure. "That's my best!" "You were never that mad when you were lifting, I guess," I said. "Big emotions make big lifts. Fall in love--you'll do better still." "First decent argument for getting tangled with one of you men I've heard yet," she lied. Wild as her looks were, she'd been a favorite around the Chapter for years. I patted her on the shoulder and went back to the table where the big weights were being lifted and showed off for a couple minutes. The inevitable hour of shop talk and demonstrations followed as soon as the out-of-towners found out who I was. They don't meet a Thirty-third every day, and face it, I'm a TK bruiser. * * * * * After enjoying some slaps on the back, I took my shower, changed back into my clothes and went to find Pheola. She had just finished her shower and had gotten dressed as far as her slip when she let me in. "What an awful man!" she greeted me. "Norty?" "Yes! He doesn't believe in me a _bit_!" "I don't either," I grinned. "Remember, you're the fake who says we're getting married." "We are, too!" she said, sulking. "He made me tell him a thousand things," she added, going over to her couch where three dresses were draped. "What should I wear?" "The blue one," I said. "Blue-eyed blondes should wear blue." I was stretching a point. "What did he make you PC?" "All about the weather," she said, somewhat muffled as she slipped the dress over her head. I helped her with a zipper and a catch. "About thirty cities, Lefty. He made me tell him the temperature and the barometric pressure every hour for about a month! I never did anything like that before."