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"
I
am
busy
.
I
wouldn
’
t
have
time
.
"
"
But
Mr
.
Harlan
,
surely
you
could
find
time
someday
.
"
She
smiled
at
him
.
Harlan
said
in
a
desperate
whisper
,
"
Will
you
pass
,
please
?
Or
will
you
stand
aside
to
let
me
pass
?
Please
!
"
She
moved
by
with
a
slow
swing
of
her
hips
that
brought
blood
tingling
to
his
embarrassed
cheeks
.
He
was
angry
at
her
for
embarrassing
him
,
angry
at
himself
for
being
embarrassed
,
and
angry
,
most
of
all
,
for
some
obscure
reason
,
at
Finge
.
Finge
called
him
in
at
the
end
of
two
weeks
.
On
his
desk
was
a
sheet
of
perforated
flimsy
the
length
and
intricacy
of
which
told
Harlan
at
once
that
this
concerned
no
half
-
hour
excursion
into
Time
.
Finge
said
,
"
Would
you
sit
down
,
Harlan
,
and
scan
this
thing
right
now
?
No
,
not
by
eye
.
Use
the
machine
.
"
Harlan
lifted
indifferent
eyebrows
,
and
inserted
the
sheet
carefully
between
the
lips
of
the
scanner
on
Finge
’
s
desk
.
Slowly
it
passed
into
the
intestines
of
the
machine
and
,
as
it
did
so
,
the
perforation
pattern
was
translated
into
words
that
appeared
on
the
cloudy
-
white
rectangle
that
was
the
visual
attachment
.
Somewhere
about
midpoint
,
Harlan
’
s
hand
shot
out
and
disconnected
the
scanner
.
He
yanked
the
flimsy
out
with
a
force
that
tore
its
tough
cellulite
structure
.
