"In a little while. I must."
She looked at him, strangely. She looked at his clothes, at his face, at his body. Then she looked at her own hands and touched her own coarse dress, and she nodded.
"You won't come back," she said. "You don't like me. I'm not what you were searching for."
He couldn't answer. Her words hurt him. The very fact that she could recognize their difference from each other hurt him. He pitied her still more.
"I'll come back," he said, "Of course I will. As often as I can. You're the only other people I've ever known who didn't perceive."
She looked up into his face again. Her eyes were very large. They were the only beautiful thing about her.
"Even if you do come back, you won't want me."
There wasn't any answer at all.
It was dusk when Eric got back to the museum. He landed the aircar and climbed out and walked across to the building, still feeling unreal, still not believing that the events of this day had actually happened.