Because there were no windows, he did not see the long shadows begin. He spoke of other worlds; he showed the man his stones. The man told him of the farm he once had owned.

As the first stars of evening gave their light to tile world, Heidel glanced at his chrono.

"It can't be _that_ late!" he said.

The old man looked at Heidel's, looked at his own.

"I'm afraid that it is. I didn't mean to keep you if you were in a hurry ..."

"No. That's all right," said Heidel. "I just didn't realize what time it was getting to be. I've enjoyed talking with you. But I'd better be going now."

He paid his bill and departed quickly. He was not eager to push his safety margin.

He turned right when he left the store, walking through the twilight, heading in the direction from which he had originally come. After fifteen minutes, he was out of the business district and passing through a pleasant residential section of the city. The globes glowed more brightly atop their poles as the sky darkened and stars were splashed across it.

Passing a stone church, a faint light coming from behind its stained glassite windows, he felt that old jittery sensation that churches always gave him. It had been--what?--ten or twelve years ago? Whatever the interval, he recalled the event clearly. It still troubled him on occasion.

It had been a stifling summer day on Murtania and he had been caught out in the noonday heat, walking. He had sought refuge in one of those underground Strantrian shrines, where it is always cool and dark. Seating himself in an especially shadowy corner, he had rested. He closed his eyes when two worshipers appeared, hoping to appear appropriately contemplative. The newcomers, instead of praying quietly as he had expected, did not seat themselves, but commenced an exchange of excited whispers. One of them departed, and the other moved forward and took a seat near to the central altar.