He started to say something about Marcia, but then stopped. What good would it do? he asked himself. Rita, with the instinct of birth close upon her, was too absorbed in herself and the life she carried. The problem, to her, would exist only if it threatened herself or her child. And by all the signs, she felt no threat. Her calm acceptance of the daily life, her quiet absorption in the now and here, measured a confidence in the clan that was complete. No, to talk of Marcia could do no good. If he succeeded in impressing her with the importance of the problem, it would be because he made her realize that Marcia was a threat. It would be at the expense of her feeling of security, the security that let her wait her time out in calm acceptance and assurance. And if he did not persuade her of the problem's significance, she could not contribute to it. Under normal circumstances, she was not one to deal with abstract questions. She had an acute awareness of personalities that transcended logic. She had an instinct, a sixth sense, almost, for responding to the needs of others. But she was not a philosopher, and neither could she handle abstract problems. And so he smiled at her and told her: "Call me if you do want anything. I'll be outside." And he passed on through and out the door. 4 As he walked out the door, he saw, coming in the gate, the rest of the clan returning from work. The children were rushing to meet them, whooping their greetings. The whole scene was one of happy chaos. Out in front was Paul, his round, cherubic face beaming with delight. He bent down to whisper something in little Randy's ear which sent that boy off shrieking with delight. Behind him was Sam, Polly, and Herb. Sam's face was dark and his eyes deepset. Generally, he looked sullen and dour. But those who knew him, could also see the twinkle in his eye and knew that he had a subtle and penetrating sense of humor. The kids liked him, and both Alice and Ken, aged five and six, were crowding around him now while he gravely asked them something. Polly, beside him, was peering around delightedly, sparkling with the general excitement. Her eyes were darting all around looking, Tom knew, not for any one thing or person, but simply to absorb it all. On Polly's other side was Herb. The mechanic of the crowd, he had an eager interest that was somewhat boyish. His happiest moments were spent under the car or bus with his face all smeared with grease. With people, he lacked the touch that he had with machines. There was an awkwardness, almost an uncouthness, that would have been tragic, Tom thought, anywhere but in the haven of a clan.