"Of course. Saw you for the first time then, in teleview. You reminded me of something I'd been dreaming."
"What?"
"Tell you after we're married."
"I'm not going to marry you."
"You'll have to. I can pass all the requirements. Here's your wallet I stole out of your pocket ten minutes ago. And the law says—"
"But you're an ounce underweight."
"Are you going to let a little thing like that—?"
Lucy halted abruptly and Cornith smiled serenely. "Sure," he said. "The specifications require the female to weigh a hundred and twenty-three pounds, dripping wet, and she may not change her weight consciously by eating or drinking. Now, I'll give you a sporting chance. You weigh a hundred and twenty-two pounds and fifteen ounces, or maybe a little less. You can weigh yourself and see. If you gain an ounce, or enough to make you weigh one twenty-three, within an hour, and without eating or drinking, or thinking about your body, I'll marry you and not even ask your name."
"There are certain absorptions—"