luis stared bewilderedly at her. she was desirable, more than he had imagined and for a variety of reasons. her emotions had been real, he was sure of that, not feigned for the purpose of taking the gun away. but she had changed again in a fraction of a second. her face was twisted with an effort at self-control.

"what's the matter?" he asked. he tried to make his voice gentle, but it wouldn't come out that way. the retrogression process had sharpened all his reactions—this one too.

"the name i finally arrived at was—luise obispo," she said.

he started. the same as his, except feminine! this was more than he'd dared hope for. a clue—and this girl, who he suddenly realized, without any cynicism about "love at first sight," because the tapes hadn't included it, meant something to him.

"maybe you're my wife," he said tentatively.

"don't count on it," she said wearily. "it would have been better if we were strangers—then it wouldn't matter what we did. now there are too many factors, and i can't choose."

"it has to be," he argued. "look—the same name, and so close together in time and place, and we were attracted instantly—"

"go away," she said, and the gun didn't waver. it was not a threat that he could ignore. he left.

she was wrong in making him leave, completely wrong. he couldn't say how he knew, but he was certain. but he couldn't prove it, and she wasn't likely to accept his unsubstantiated word.

he leaned weakly against the door. it was like that. retrogression had left him with an adult body and sharper receptiveness. and after that followed an urge to live fully. he had a lot of knowledge, but it didn't extend to this sphere of human behavior.

inside he could hear her moving around faintly, an emotional anticlimax. it wasn't just frustrated sex desire, though that played a part. they had known each other previously—the instant attraction they'd had for each other was proof, leaving aside the names. lord, he'd trade his unknown identity to have her. he should have taken another name—any other name would have been all right.

it wasn't because she was the first woman he'd seen, or the woman he had first re-seen. there had been nurses, some of them beautiful, and he'd paid no attention to them. but luise obispo was part of his former life—and he didn't know what part. the reactions were there, but until he could find out why, he was denied access to the satisfactions.

from a very narrow angle, and only from that angle, he could see that there was still a light inside. it was dim, and if a person didn't know, he might pass by and not notice it.

his former observation about the shelters was incorrect. every dwelling might be occupied and he couldn't tell unless he examined them individually.

he stirred. the woman was a clue to his problem, but the clue itself was a far more urgent problem. though his identity was important, he could build another life without it and the new life might not be worse than the one from which he had been forcibly removed.

perhaps he was over-reacting, but he didn't think so: his new life had to include this woman.

he wasn't equipped to handle the emotion. he stumbled away from the door and found an unoccupied dwelling and went in without turning on the lights and lay down on the bed.

in the morning, he knew he had been here before. in the darkness he had chosen unknowingly but also unerringly. this was the place in which he had been retrogressed.

it was here that the police had picked him up.