sofa, hands in his pockets, looking at
the floor.

I stood for a moment, looking at him.

He had changed only a little in five years. He was a big man with a
broad, pleasant face and thick black hair. A deep dimple divided his
chin. The last time I'd seen him, he had been getting a little paunchy,
and there had been wrinkles developing in his neck and bags under his
eyes. But that had been from strain and worry, and he looked a lot
better now.

"You're looking well," I told him.

"What the hell do you want?" Grogan said quietly. "Why can't you leave
me alone? I don't want any trouble."

"Neither do I."

And suddenly I felt very awkward. What the hell _did_ I want? Just
exactly what had I expected to accomplish with this visit? I didn't
really know.

I cleared my throat. "I've got one question, Grogan. Maybe two. Then
I'll leave."

He looked at me.

"Do you still blame me for what happened in Memphis?" I asked.

Grogan shifted his position and gave a sort of half-laugh. "Langston,
I've never liked you, and I don't now. But I can't say that I blame you
for the Memphis mess--if I ever did. Now, what's your other question?"

"Telenosis," I said.

He waited, looking straight at me. "Well? What about it?"

"According to your C.I. record," I said, "you had three months of
intermittent telenosis therapy."

He shrugged. "That's right. Lots of people do. You still haven't asked
your question."

"Yes, I have," I replied. "I'll leave now. Thanks for your time."

* * * * *

The gorilla-secretary was opening the front door for me, when Grogan
spoke again. "Langston."

I turned around.

Grogan was standing in the door of the library.

"Langston," he repeated. "I don't know what your angle is. I don't know
why you came here, or whether you got what you wanted. Furthermore, I
don't care much. Five years ago is not today, Langston. I've changed.
Just the same, I don't believe I want to see you again. I don't like
you. Okay?"

I said, "Okay," and left.

Back in my hotel room, I first turned down the volume of the defense
mech, then sat down at the visiphone and put in a call to New York. The
pudgy image of Carson Newell appeared.

"I'm stumped," I told him.

"What's the matter? Did you see Grogan?"

"Yeah. Just now."

"Well?"

"Nothing. I'm stumped. He's completely changed. If there was ever a case
of full and complete correction, I'd say Grogan is it."

Newell tapped