ot in any sense. He was preoccupied with the fine hair on her
skin. He studied it closely.

"I should have shaved my legs," Rhoda said uncertainly. He raised his
head, the cold eyes trained into hers. "This hair grows, too?"

Rhoda caught her lower lip between her teeth. Tears were close to the
surface.

_This is crazy. This is utterly insane. I'm mad or he's mad. I don't
know. I just don't know ..._

The last garment was removed and she was naked there in the middle of
the living room. He studied her body again, that passionless,
preoccupied frown on his face. He drew her down onto the floor and, for
a moment, the room spun around Rhoda, her emotional entrapment now the
focal point, the eye of the storm that raged in her being. He went on
with his minute inspection of her person.

_No--no. Please don't. Please don't treat me like this. I'm a woman.
Don't be contemptuous of me. Oh, no--please. Don't degrade and humiliate
me like this._

There was sudden pain. Rhoda's body wrenched and heaved upward. With a
sob, she sank back to the floor.

_I must fight. I must not allow this. I must not let him do these cruel,
degrading things to me. I must fight but I am afraid to. I am afraid
he'll go away and never come back--and if he did that, there would be
nothing left for me._

John Dennis seemed to become aware for the first time that certain
manipulations caused reaction--the jerking of Rhoda's body and her
involuntary cry of pain. He repeated the manipulation with his eyes on
her face.

_I cannot allow this. I must fight. I must resist. Oh, Rhoda Kane, what
has happened to you? Frank, please help, help me. Frank--_

But something seemed to flow out of John Dennis and into her mind and
soul and spirit; something that made the flesh and what was done to the
flesh unimportant.

The touch of John Dennis' hand brought fright as it foretold further
pain and degradation. Rhoda sobbed inwardly and braced herself to
withstand whatever was to come.

_Mad!--mad!--mad!_

But it meant nothing.

* * * * *

The building was not for tourists. It wasn't like the Pentagon or the
White House or any of the other historical or glamour symbols in
Washington, D.C. It was on a side street, and while no one associated it
with governmental activity, it was of a size and importance that
justified a uniformed attendant in the lobby.

He was a hard-bitten old Irishman named Callahan, and nobody got pa