Marcy didn't think it was funny. As her terror receded, her puritan upbringing took over. "Must you always use those disgusting words?" she demanded.

"Scientific precision, my dear. We always try to use the shortest, most descriptive words to deal with a subject." He raised the damp handkerchief to his nose and sniffed appreciatively. "Mmmm, what a delightful blend of soap, talcum, and spicy cunt juice."

Marcy wrinkled her nose in distaste, and turned to stare out the window at the passing countryside. She needed to cairn her inner turmoil and get her thoughts in order. How odd it was that she should be sitting here in this car with a perfect stranger, letting him take her God only knew where. He said he had a laboratory at Tiburon, and she'd have to believe that since they were headed in that direction, but she had serious doubts as to the legitimacy of the research project he claimed to be conducting. However, she thought, if he were engaged in anything illegal, would the newspaper have published his ad? Probably. They were interested primarily in the fee, and not in what happened to anyone foolish enough to answer the ad. No, she couldn't blame the newspaper. She was the one who had answered the ad, drawn by its very bizarreness, and thinking it an answer to her prayer, a way out of her dilemma. Tucked away in the Personal columns, it had sounded like a joke, or a put-on.

WANTED: Virgin, 20-25, to, assist in sex research program. Will pay $20,000 for loss of certain intangibles and services rendered. Call Dr. Villiers at Embassy Hotel day or night.

Marcy sighed deeply. Yes, it had been her own doing. She had made the phone call. She had signed the papers agreeing to take part in the experiments and releasing Dr. Villiers from any responsibility for any damage she suffered, physically or psychically, as a result. But she had done it not for kicks or through a sense of adventure, but simply because she had been forced into it by circumstances beyond her control.