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Literally hurting with exhaustion, she rolled off the bed, undressed, bathed, brushed her teeth, combed
her hair, changed the linens and climbed into a clean pair of pajamas.
She awakened with a horrible start shortly after 5:30 with the thought that conformism might not be it.
Such toiletry amenities as she had performed were products of early training and did not necessarily have
anything to do with life and living as it should be.
She fell asleep imagining a series of rebel Ediths, each one of whom had some special characteristic that
was noble and worthy.
The next time she awakened, it was light outside. It occurred to her that all of her concepts, so
compulsively visualized, where probably being created somewhere by the crystal. And so undoubtedly
there were already beatnik and hippie Ediths as well as rougher, tougher types.
For the first time she realized what a mad whirl of possibilities she had considered in the previous
thirty-six hours. Ediths who were hard-boiled and could coldly shoot to kill, or, conversely, were
superfeminine, sweet, tantalizing temptresses.
'And it's all unnecessary,' she whispered, lying there. 'The decision will probably be made as arbitrarily
as my own impulsive condemnation of the inarticulate farmer and the courageous but presumably not
perfect detective.'
Having no standards that applied to the twentieth century; the crystal had uncreated a powerful and
good man on the passing judgment of the person to whom it had by chance become oriented.
Accordingly, the future looked grim for all Seth Mitchells and Edith Prices, including the original.
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When she next awakened, it was time to get up and go to work and think some more about what the
perfect Edith would be like.
As she dressed, she looked out of her window with its distant view of the blue waters of Lake
Naragang, and the nearby downtown section that at one place, opposite the Harkdale Hotel, crowded
the water's edge. Pretty little town, Harkdale. She remembered that on her arrival she had thought that at
least here she could be more casual in her dress than in New York.
Edith gave a curt, rueful laugh as that thought struck her. She had come full circle during the night, back
to the notion that appearance would count. Trying to think feminine 'After all, I am a woman' she
put on her frilliest dress.
Yet in some back closet of her brain there was a fearful conviction that all this was in vain. The crisis was
imminent; she might be dead uncreated before this day was out
It seemed ridiculous to go to work on the day you were going to die. But she went.
As she moved about her duties, Edith was conscious of her subdued manner. Twice, when she
unthinkingly looked into the rest-room mirror, she was startled by the pale face and sick eyes that looked
hack at her.
'This is not really me,' she told herself. 'I can't be judged on this.'
Surely the crystal wouldn't reject her because she was in a daze. Every passing minute, fleeting images of
other Ediths passed before her mind's eye; each one had in it the momentary hope that maybeit held the
key to the best. There was an Edith living out her life as a nun; another chaste Edith, married but holding
sex to a minimum, placing all her attention on her children; and an Edith who was a follower of Zen
Buddhism.
She had, earlier, put through a call to Marge Aiken at the Harkdale Hotel. About two o'clock Marge
called back. She reported that she had phoned New York and discovered that the second Edith had not
returned to her hotel at all the previous night.
After imparting this grim news, Marge said, 'And so, if Athtar contacts you, don't be alone with him
under any circumstances until he produces the Seth Mitchell in the gold Cadillac and the Edith in New
York.'
After that call, more images, mostly of saintly and good-hearted, unsophisticated Ediths, now haunted
her. Somehow, they stemmed from her childhood conditioning, against which she had rebelled in college,
as seen through a child's unnoticing eyes.
Into this haze of thoughts, Tilsit's voice suddenly intruded: 'Phone call for you, Edith.'
As she picked up the phone, Edith was vaguely aware of Miss Davis' disapproving face in the
background. Though it was the first day she had received personal calls in her six months in the library,
the chief librarian had the outraged expression of an employer whose patience has been tried beyond
reason.
Edith forgot that as she heard the familiar voice on the phone Athtar's.
The man said, 'I want to see you right after work.'
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Edith said, in a suddenly faint voice, 'At the Harkdale Hotel in the lobby.'
IX
Athtar stepped out of the phone booth from which he had called. A cruel smile twisted his broad face.
For him there were two possibilities of victory, now that he had the crystal.
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