"I've got to. Hold on to your chairs for a moment. I'm going to turn my mind on. Get ready for the shock."
"Not the fourteen power. Don't go over eight or nine."
"Think I'm a fool? I'll keep it down to seven power. Brace yourself, young lady. This is going to be a shock."
There was a moment of still silence, then the heat in the room began gradually to rise. In another moment the three blonde hairs were sticking straight up on Fillmore's head and waves of thought were washing about the room in an endless rising tide. The walls creaked and strained and the ceiling sighed upward elastically, giving as it was intended, and a thin gray haze obscured the natural light which was reflected from outside by means of a force field. Fillmore put a cigarette into his mouth, concentrated on the tip of it until it flared into flame, then resumed thinking for a total of two seconds.
"I have it," he said at last. "I'll pull out a strand of my hair, seal it in a ten-ton safe and ship it to Cynthia by armored tube. That is the greatest expression of love any man can possibly make."
"But," the woman broke in, "that is too much. I'm sure she would be satisfied with less."
"No." Fillmore shook his head. "The people of my clan are noted for their courage and chivalry. Should I choose to make the supreme sacrifice for my beloved, who is there to stop me? Call in the reporters. We'll make the announcement right now. My Cynthia shall be honored above women."
"It's beautiful," the woman sighed. "To be loved like that is something every woman dreams of."
"It may cause trouble," the bald man put in. "There was a case once in which a man came within speaking distance of his wife, and the women went wild about it. Some women even insisted on living near their husbands after that, and then the divorces began. You shouldn't do it, Fillmore. Take my word for it, you'll start something that will be hard to stop."