He watched his reflection in the brassy mirror of the mailboxes. He looked the same. Handsome by conventional standards-he had no false modesty-a big stalwart young man in the peak of condition. The face he shaved every morning, the body he lived in, bathed each day, took meticulous care of. What had happened to him? Where had it all gone wrong?

A girl said, «Excuse me, please.»

He moved aside to let her snap open her mailbox. She gave him a sideways look of approval. A bright little brunette bird, a sharp and pretty nose, mini-skirted, legs glistening and sending a waft of clean flesh and perfume to him. Blade smiled faintly, but did not speak. She fumbled with her key, taking longer than necessary. Blade watched her, again slowly raising his finger to the button of Meg's flat. The girl got the door open, shot an open glance of invitation at Blade, then let the door shut behind her. There was disappointment in the wobble of her trim buttocks as she disappeared down a corridor.

Blade's finger hovered over the button. He could not press it. He was well over six feet, two hundred twenty pounds of muscle, and he lacked strength to move his finger a quarter of an inch. He left the foyer.

Coward!

He knew then what he was going to do. The man in Edinburgh had told him: «In some cases of psychological impotence, and I think yours falls into that category, cures have been effected by a complete change in environment. I know it works in some cases, though not all.»

Blade, remembering in the taxi, smiled. He had said, «You mean take a long sea voyage?»

The Edinburgh doctor was an American, Harvard Med, who for family reasons had settled in Scotland. He had grinned at Blade and told him, «The sea voyage bit is Victorian, but that isn't what I meant. When I said a change of environment I meant a real change in environment. New job, new friends, new hobbies, new country if possible, new every damned thing as near as you can come to it.»