"Good grief!" Marc murmured. He gazed out the window at the passing city, the people, the shops, cars, sky-scrapers. He tried to imagine all these things torn loose from the earth, twisting and turning into space. His mind revolted before the picture. The idea was too terrifying for words. Marc trembled with horror. That he should be the one to provide the instrument by which such a fantasy could be set into motion was too awful to contemplate. "You can't!" he breathed. "You can't be human and even think of such a thing!" "You see!" Cecil said, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "You're already impressed, and we haven't even started. Of course, if you want, we'll cut you in on the deal. It would be worth it to get your cooperation." He turned to Toffee who was staring at him with unguarded loathing. "You, too." "I'd rather die," Toffee said. "Well," Cecil shrugged, "if you'd really rather, it can be arranged." "It won't work!" Marc said desperately. "It's preposterous!" "It worked with you, didn't it?" Cecil pointed out. Marc thought back to his frenzied flight to the top of the Wynant. A chill passed through him; anything was possible. "But why the whole city?" he asked. "Why not just a building or a retired battleship?" "More spectacular," Cecil said. "It'll cause more comment." "That's so understated," Toffee said, "it's below the level of reason." She looked at Marc. "They're mad," she said, "raving." "I know," Marc said in hushed tones. "They're just mad enough." "Oh, you bet we are," Cecil said with a sudden mood of happiness. "We're regular ogres, aren't we, Gerald?" "Well, I wouldn't say _regular_ ogres," Gerald answered. "Would you say _irregular_ ogres?" "No," Gerald said with due consideration. "Irregular sort of suggests those advertisements. You know the ones about people who are uncomfortable because...." "Just listen to them!" Toffee moaned. "They're planning on blowing up the city and they go on about it as giddy as a couple of spinsters in spring! What difference does it make what kind of ogres you are? You're perfectly abhorrent, both of you." Cecil smiled his crooked smile at Toffee. "Thanks," he said modestly. "Don't mention it," Toffee said. She turned away with a little shiver. Then suddenly she brightened. Gerald had just brought the car to a stop at an intersection. At the center of the street a truly enormous cop was presiding over traffic. Toffee looked back at the revolver in Cecil's hand, then at the cop. She decided to risk it. She threw back her head and screamed with all the sureness and tonal brilliance of an operatic heroine saying farewell to her lover. "Murder!" she screamed. "Arson! Blackmail! Fire! Flood! Famine."