assembly lines he kept in operation around the clock—irreligious soul that he was! I was genuinely sorry whenhe died, in peace. Not so much because I hadn't gottento drain him properly, but because he was a worthy opponent and a suitable antagonist. What a game weplayed!"

His husky voice weakened.

"He sleeps a scant three hundred paces from here,bleaching and dry. His is the great marble tomb by thegate... . Please gather roses tomorrow and place themupon it."

I agreed that I would, for there is a closer kinshipbetween the two of us than between myself and any 'hot,despite the dictates of resemblance. And I must keep myword, before this day passes into evening and althoughthere are searchers above, for such is the law of my nature.

"Damn them! (He taught me that word.) Damnthem!" I say. "I'm coming up! Beware, gentle *bots! Ishall walk among you and you shall not know me. I shallJoin in the search, and you will think I am one of you. Ishall gather the red flowers for dead Kennington, rubbingshoulders with you, and Fritz will smile at the joke."

I climb the cracked and hollow steps, the east alreadySpilling twilight, and the sun half-Udded in the west I emerge.

The roses live on the wall across the road. From greattwisting tubes of vine, with heads brighter than any rust,they bum like danger lights on a control panel, butmoistly.

One, two, three roses for Kennington. Four, five...

**What are you doing, 'hot?""Gathering roses."

**You are supposed to be searching for the werebotHas something damaged you?"

**No, I'm all right," I say, and I fix him where hestands, by bumping against bis shoulder. The circuit completed, I drain his vile-box until I am filled.

'Tfou are the wereboti" he intones weakly.

He falls with a crash.

... Six, seven, eight roses for Kennington, deadKennington, dead as the *bot at my feet—more dead—