"All right, we'll let that part go," Lloyd said, in no mental shape for argument. "There are other things—"
"Forget them," Grace said, vehemently. "Whatever your reasons, or reasoning, last night, you have another problem to face: What are you going to do with this girl? The longer you stick with her, the slimmer your excuses will sound when she's caught. In fact, the only hope you have is to turn her in, right now, and pray your Readjustment isn't too painful."
"But don't you see, Grace—!" Lloyd blurted. "What if she's right?! On that chance, no matter how silly you think her theory is—a theory that has led others to join her movement, remember—do I dare take the risk of turning her in?"
Grace stared at him and digested this aspect of the situation slowly. "I—I guess it would be kind of late, when the top level sent me the report that your Readjustment hadn't taken, or something, to say 'Well, he told me so!'."
The door chimes pealed, then, startling them all.
"You expecting anyone else?" asked Lloyd.
"No, unless your friend the fugitive was seen coming in here."
As they spoke, Andra had gone to a window and peeked out from behind the curtain. When she turned to face them again, her face was grey with strain and apprehension.
"Lloyd—" she said. "It's your father!"