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message was not sent by any mechanical means from the ship now in orbit about our world but was
delivered in person by two of the passengers or crew from the ship. The same source also provides the
information that the two beings in question appear to be two men with somewhat swarthy features, in
every respect, including the suits they wear, as human as we are. Further word is expected shortly.
"Now some details about the ship, as the details have been gleaned by telescope from the surface of our
world. The ship itself appears to be at least as large as was originally estimated. There seems to be no
evidence of windows or entrances in its outer surface. Moreover, no sign has been seen of a small ship
leaving it or of any means by which the two from the ship could have made the trip down to the UN
buildings here in New York. No landing of any type of alien craft has been reported and no unusual
visitors have been escorted to the building. . . ."
His voice droned on. Miles went to the opposite end of the room and sat down on a heavy green sofa
pushed back against the wall. It was only a few minutes before Marie appeared in the entrance to the
lounge. He got up swiftly and went to meet her.
"Miles " she said as he came up to her.
"Can we get out of here?" he said. "Somewhere away from television sets and radios?"
"I'm on duty here at the dorm starting at one o'clock," she answered. "But we could go someplace and
have an early lunch until then."
"Good," he said. "Let's go to someplace downtown that isn't overrun by people from the U."
They took the bus toward downtown Minneapolis. As the bus rolled across the freeway bridge, Miles
gestured toward the window beside which Marie was sitting.
"Look," he said, indicating the rock wall below which he had stood painting the afternoon before. "You
see the bluff there? Do you think you could climb it?"
Marie stared at the steep rise of rock.
"I guess so if I had to," she said. She turned, frowning in puzzlement at him. "I don't think I'd like to.
Why?"
"I'll tell you later, while we're having lunch," said Miles. "But look at it now will you? and just imagine
yourself climbing it."
Marie looked back out of the window and kept her eyes on the bluff until the bus passed the point
where that side of the river could be seen. Then she looked questioningly at Miles.
When he said nothing, however, she looked away, and neither of them said anything more until they left
the bus downtown.
Miles, in fact, waited until they were actually inside the restaurant they had picked a small,
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medium-priced eating place with no television set.
"About last night " he began, after the waitress had given them menus and left.
Marie laid down her menu. She reached out across the table to put her hand on his.
"Never mind," she said. "It doesn't matter."
"But it does matter," he answered. He withdrew his hand, took the manila envelope out from the inside
pocket of his jacket, and handed it to her. "There's something I want you to understand. That's why I had
you look at that bluff on the way here. I should have told you about it a long time ago; but when I first
met you, well, I just wasn't used to telling anyone about it, and later I liked to think you understood
without being told. Then, when I found you didn't last night that's why I blew up. Take a look in that
envelope."
Looking strangely at him, Marie opened the envelope and poured out the sheaf of yellowing newspaper
clippings on the white place mat. She looked through them while he waited. Then she looked back up at
him, frowning.
"I guess Idon't understand," she said.
"They're all instances of hysterical strength," Miles said. "Have you ever heard of that?"
"I think so," she said, still frowning. "But what's it all got to do with you?"
"It ties in with what I believe," he said. "A theory of mine about painting. About anything creative,
actually . . ." And he told her about it. But when he was done, she still shook her head.
"I didn't know," she said. She shuffled the clippings with her fingers. "But, Miles, isn't it a pretty big guess
on your part? These" she shuffled the clippings, again looking down at them "are hard enough to
believe "
"Will you believe me ifI tell you something?" he interrupted.
"Of course!" Her head came up.
"All right then. Listen," he said, "before I met you, when I first had polio, I took up painting mainly to
give myself an excuse to hide from people." He took a deep breath. "I couldn't get over the fact I was
crippled, you see. I had a knack for art, but the painting and drawing were just an excuse that first year,
after I'd been sick."
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