"Possibly," grunted Kinton wrily.
"We, too, have criminals," said the aide, as gently as was possible in his clicking language. "We do not think it necessary to grieve for the pain they bring upon themselves."
"No, I suppose not," sighed Kinton. "I ... it's just—"
He looked up at the pointed visage, at the strange eyes regarding him sympathetically from beneath the sloping, purple-scaled forehead.
"It's just that now I'm lonely ... again," he said.
Transcriber's Note:
This e-text was produced from Space Science Fiction February 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.