"Marge asked me to come. I couldn't tell her I was sorry, but her husband wouldn't let me, could I?"
"Well, certainly not—"
"You want me to keep her happy, don't you? You don't want her to get suspicious."
"No, but suppose somebody saw us together! If she ever got a hint—"
"I'm sorry," George Prime said contritely. "It seemed the right thing to do. You would have done it. At least that's what my judgment center maintained. We had quite an argument."
"Well, tell your judgment center to use a little sense," I snapped. "I don't want it to happen again."
The next night, I stayed home, even though it was Tuesday night. I was beginning to get worried. Of course, I did have complete control—I could snap George Prime off any time I wanted, or even take him in for a complete recircuiting—but it seemed a pity. He was doing such a nice job.
Marge was docile as a kitten, even more so than before. She sympathized with my hard day at the office and agreed heartily that the boss, despite all appearances, was in reality a jabbering idiot. After dinner, I suggested a movie, but Marge gave me an odd sort of look and said she thought it would be much nicer to spend the evening at home by the fire.
I'd just gotten settled with the paper when she came into the living room and sat down beside me. She was wearing some sort of filmy affair I'd never laid eyes on before, and I caught a whiff of my favorite perfume.
"Georgie?" she said.