, let it fall, clattering, on the rock.

"Listen," she said. "I could have told you I was Lucy. If I said now
that I am Lucy and if I kept on saying it, you'd believe me. You'd
believe me because you'd want to."

"Well," said Temple.

"I am not Lucy. Lucy is dead. But ... but I was Lucy in everything but
being Lucy. I thought her thoughts, dreamed her dreams, loved her
loves."

"You killed her."

"No. I had nothing to do with that. She was killed, yes. Not by me.
Kit, if I asked you when Lucy stopped, and ... when I began, could you
tell me?"

He had often thought about that. "No," he said truthfully. "You're as
much my wife as--she was."

* * * * *

She clutched at his hand impulsively. Then, when he failed to
respond, she withdrew her own hand. "Then--then I _am_ Lucy. If I am
Lucy in every way, Lucy never died."

"You betrayed me. You stood by while murder was committed. You are
guilty of espionage."

"Lucy loved you. I am Lucy...."

"... Betrayed me...."

"For a hundred thousand dollars. For the chance to live a normal life,
for the chance to forget Leningrad in the wintertime, watery potato
soup, rags for clothing, swaggering commissars, poverty, disease. Do
you think I realized I could fall in love with you so completely? If I
did, don't you think that would have changed things? I am not Sophia,
Kit. I was, but I am not. They made me Lucy. Lucy can't be dead, not
if I am she in every way."

"What can we do?"

"I don't know. I only want to be your wife...."

"Well, then tell me," he said bitterly. "Shall I go back to the plant
and continue working, knowing all the time that our most closely
guarded secret is in Russian hands and that my wife is responsible?"
He laughed. "Shall I do that?"

"Your secrets never went anywhere."

"Shall I ... _what_?"

"Your secrets never went anywhere. Charles is dead. I have destroyed
all that we took. I am not Russian any longer. American. They made me
American. They made me Lucy. I want to go right on being Lucy, your
wife."

Temple said nothing for a long time. He realized now he could not kill
her. But everything else she suggested.... "Tell me," he said. "Tell
me, how long have you been Lucy? You've got to tell me that."

"How long have we been married?"

"You know how long. Three years."

Sophia crushed her cigarette out on the rock, wiped perspiration
(tears?) from her cheek with the back of her hand. "You have nev