“That was close. People have been killed getting off moving trains,” Irene said with a shudder.
Bewildered, Judy looked around her. “Isn’t anybody going to meet us?” she inquired.
“Dale didn’t know which train we were going to take. We’ll go home by taxi,” Irene announced.
She hailed a cab that was just about to pull away from the station. She and Judy were crowded in along with other passengers who lived in the same suburban town. Again Judy had that elated sense of being glad—glad that they were different.
“How terrible it would be if we were all alike,” she said to Irene as they huddled together in the crowded taxi. “Our faces, our hair, our thoughts—everything. Would you like it if everyone in the whole world had golden hair and a face like yours?”
“I’d hate it,” Irene replied. “It’s bad enough when I buy a dress and find out someone else has one like it. Why do you ask such a question?”
“It was that way in my dream. I told you—”
“I wasn’t listening. You’ll have to tell me again when we’re home. After all, it was only a dream.”
“Was it?”
“What do you think it was?” Irene inquired.