"Shake hands!" Toffee exploded. "If that doesn't take the brass-lined girdle! I don't care what you shake. You can shimmy from one end of this valley to the other, but you needn't expect me to be a party to it. I wash my hands of you. And good riddance!" And with that, she retreated to the far side of the grove and draped herself angrily against a tree, arms folded. She regarded Marc icily from the corner of her eye. "Of all the thankless, gutless worms, I would have to wind up with you," she muttered. "You'd look good with your ugly head bashed in." Marc flinched. "I'm sorry," he began cautiously. "I...." Toffee was instantly in his arms, and he hadn't the faintest idea how she had gotten there. "I knew you couldn't resist me," she cooed. "If you're really sorry...." "Wait a minute!" Marc yelped, trying to free himself. "I didn't mean...." The words froze on his lips. Over Toffee's slender shoulder he could see the blackness, whole again, rushing down on him, borne on the tide of the shrieking wind. His hands grew limp on Toffee's wrists as the darkness closed in swiftly and snuffed out the last glowing light of the quiet valley. Then the wind caught them full force, and for a moment they swayed together under its sudden impact. Marc tried to get to his feet, but it was useless. Already, they were being lifted upward, shooting outward into space. Toffee's arms tightened around Marc's neck. "Since you apologize," she whispered in his ear, "I forgive you." * * * * * Marc stirred and opened his eyes with an effort. Instantly, inside his head, a tin-pan symphony swung into a jangling rendition of "Hold That Tiger," and whaled it to a fare-thee-well. The universe seemed to rotate once, twice, and then skidded to a jittery stop and remained fixed. The discordant symphony became muted and distant. Marc discovered confusedly that he was in a sort of small shack-like structure. Bare boards with blinking knot holes stared back at him from an unlovely ceiling. Then an aged head blurred into sight, looking down at him with worried concern. It made a terrible clicking noise with its mouth and moved off to one side. Marc felt strengthless arms moving about his shoulders and with their negligible help, boosted himself into a sitting position. The owner of the head, a little, worried-looking man, was crouching beside him. "You come around pretty fast," he wheezed. "Ain't really been out no time at all. You had me scared at first, though. Thought maybe you was hurt bad." * * * * * Marc stared out a slit-like door that was directly in front of him. Beyond, a row of assorted automobiles testified to his whereabouts. His memory jogged back a bit and arrived successfully at the accident in the drive. "How's my car?" he asked.