"Then we'd live forever." Lin grinned. "Maybe that's why he has to get it back."
"Suppose," Dorothy said. "Suppose—don't think I'm silly, but suppose we destroyed it on this plane. Then it could never go into that flame."
"I don't know," Lin frowned. "Maybe any flame would make it happen. It would be an awful risk to take."
"We wouldn't have to burn it," she said. "We could tear it into little bits and let the wind carry them away, one at a time."
"I'll have the nurse get it," Lin said.
When the nurse brought it Dorothy examined it eagerly, trying to read what was typed on it. A light of excitement danced in her bright blue eyes. Finally she held it in a position to tear it.
"Shall I?" she said.
Lin nodded. She hesitated a moment, dramatically, then abruptly pulled her hands in a shearing movement that should have torn it easily.
It didn't.