"Bill!"
It wasn't a loud exclamation, but a faint, weak cry. Morrow had his finger over his lips, motioning her to silence.
Her face went blank; then she tugged her housecoat frantically back on and strode over to him. Her voice was a low, insistent murmur. "Bill, how did you get in here? What is this, anyway?" Her wide eyes were sweeping over him from head to foot, unbelievingly. "What on earth's happened?"
"Sit down," Morrow said gently. "Keep your voice low. Can't let anyone know I'm here, Gwyn—and I need your help!"
Gwyn looked at him steadily for a long moment. Then she said, with a kind of silent protest, "All right, Bill. I'll get Dad's car out and go with you. Now—how are you going to get out of here?"
"Same way I got in," he told her, quietly. "I'll meet you outside."
Then, before she could protest, he strode to the window, raised it, climbed out, and shoved free—using his gravitor, of course, as he did.
She stared at him from the window until he touched ground. Then he waved to her and went around the house to the garage.
She came out a few minutes later, dressed in a warm, woolen suit.