He turned abruptly and left his companion standing on the street corner, staring vacantly after him.
Instinctively his footsteps found their way to Storch's shack. A light was glimmering inside. Fred beat upon the door. It swung open quickly, revealing Storch's greenish teeth bared in a wide smile of satisfaction.
"Come in … come in!" Storch cried out gayly. "Have a good day?"
"Excellent!" Fred snapped back, venomously. "I learned, among other things, that I am legally dead."
Storch rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "A clean slate! Do you realize how wonderful it is, my man, to start fresh?"
Fred threw himself into a chair. He felt tired. Sharp, darting pains were stabbing his eyes. "I think I'm going to be ill!" he said, with sudden irrelevance.
Storch lighted the oil stove. "Crawl into bed and I'll get you something hot to drink!"
Storch's tone was kind to a point of softness, and yet, later, when he bent over the couch with a steaming glass in his hand Fred experienced a sharp revulsion.
"I dreamed all last night," Fred said, almost defiantly, "that this room was a cobweb and that you were a huge spider, dangling on a thread."
"And you were the fly, I suppose," Storch replied, sneeringly.