A small hand stole into mine. "How about me, Wally?" Nora asked sweetly.
I looked down at a thionite dream come true by the glow in her eyes that admired no one else but me. "You're mine," I reminded her, "until Flying Heels, Moonbeam, and Lady Grace win One, Two, and Three at the Kentucky Derby."
"Or," she said mischievously, "'Til death do us part!"
I was instructing her how to respond to a kiss as a lady should respond when about two hundred thousand noisy, exuberant human natures yelled and radiated and thought: "They're Off!"
But they didn't mean us. They were watching a bunch of long-faced hayburners chasing one another around a dusty track.
Human nature ain't changed a bit. It's just more complicated in an extrasensory sort of way.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction December 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.