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"
Do
you
have
to
?
"
"
I
have
to
.
"
"
Well
,
who
would
care
if
you
were
late
?
"
Harlan
almost
smiled
at
that
.
"
They
wouldn
’
t
like
me
to
be
late
,
"
he
said
,
yet
thought
longingly
just
the
same
of
the
two
-
day
margin
allowed
for
in
his
chart
.
She
adjusted
the
controls
of
a
musical
instrument
that
played
soft
and
complicated
strains
out
of
its
own
creative
bowels
by
striking
notes
and
chords
in
a
random
manner
;
the
randomness
weighted
in
favor
of
pleasant
combinations
by
intricate
mathematical
formulae
.
The
music
could
no
more
repeat
itself
than
could
snowflakes
,
and
could
no
more
fail
of
beauty
.
Through
the
hypnosis
of
sound
Harlan
gazed
at
Noys
and
his
thoughts
wound
tightly
about
her
.
What
would
she
be
in
the
new
dispensation
?
A
fishwife
,
a
factory
girl
,
the
mother
of
six
,
fat
,
ugly
,
diseased
?
Whatever
she
was
,
she
would
not
remember
Harlan
.
He
would
have
been
no
part
of
her
life
in
a
new
Reality
.
And
whatever
she
would
be
then
,
she
would
not
be
Noys
.
He
did
not
simply
love
a
girl
.
(
Strangely
,
he
used
the
word
"
love
"
in
his
own
thoughts
for
the
first
time
and
did
not
even
pause
long
enough
to
stare
at
the
strange
thing
and
wonder
at
it
.
)
He
loved
a
complex
of
factors
;
her
choice
of
clothes
,
her
walk
,
her
manner
of
speech
,
her
tricks
of
expression
.
A
quarter
century
of
life
and
experience
in
a
given
Reality
had
gone
into
the
manufacture
of
all
that
.
She
had
not
been
his
Noys
in
the
previous
Reality
of
a
physioyear
earlier
.
She
would
not
be
his
Noys
in
the
next
Reality
.
The
new
Noys
might
,
conceivably
,
be
better
in
some
ways
,
but
he
knew
one
thing
very
definitely
.
He
wanted
this
Noys
here
,
the
one
he
saw
at
this
moment
,
the
one
of
this
Reality
.
If
she
had
faults
,
he
wanted
those
faults
,
too
.
