In five minutes, the Keeper was back, looking solemn and yet glad, like a bearer of serious but welcome tidings. "It is the time for the first Donation," he announced. "Which of you--" "Him," said Tropile quickly, pointing. Boyne opened his eyes calmly and nodded. He got to his feet, made a formal leavetaking bow to Tropile, and followed the Keeper toward his Donation and his death. As they were going out, Tropile coughed a would-you-please-grant-me-a-favor cough. The Keeper paused. "What is it, Wolf?" Tropile showed him the empty water pitcher--empty, all right; he had emptied it out the window. "My apologies," the Keeper said, flustered, and hurried Boyne along. He came back almost at once to fill the pitcher, even though he should be there to watch Boyne's ceremonial Donation. Tropile stood looking at the Keeper, his sub-adrenals beginning to pound like the rolling boil of Well-aged Water. The Keeper was at a disadvantage. He had been neglectful of his charge--a broken stool, no water in the pitcher. And a Citizen, brought up in a Citizen's maze of consideration and tact, could not help but be humiliated, seeking to make amends. Tropile pressed his advantage home. "Wait," he said to the Keeper. "I'd like to talk to you." The Keeper hesitated, torn. "The Donation--" "Damn the Donation," Tropile said calmly. "After all, what is it but sticking a pipe into a man's backbone and sucking out the juice that keeps him alive? It's killing, that's all." The Keeper turned literally white. Tropile was speaking blasphemy and he wasn't stopping. "I want to tell you about my wife," Tropile went on, assuming a confidential air. "Now there's a real _woman_. Not one of these frozen-up Citizenesses, you know? Why, she and I used to--" He hesitated. "You're a man of the world, aren't you?" he demanded. "I mean you've seen life." "I--suppose so," the Keeper said faintly. "Then you won't be shocked," Tropile lied. "Well, let me tell you, there's a lot to women that these stuffed-shirt Citizens don't know about. Boy! Ever see a woman's knee?" He sniggered. "Ever kiss a woman with--" he winked--"with the _light on_? Ever sit in a big armchair, say, with a woman in your _lap_--all soft and heavy, and kind of warm, and slumped up against your chest, you know, and--" He stopped and swallowed. He was almost making himself retch, it was so hard to say these things. But he forced himself to go on: "Well, that's what she and I used to do. Plenty. All the time. That's what I call a real _woman_." He stopped, warned by the Keeper's sudden change of expression, glazed eyes, strangling breath. He had gone too far. He had only wanted to paralyze the man, revolt him, put him out of commission, but he was overdoing it. He jumped forward and caught the Keeper as he fell, fainting. * * * * *