The house was silent. The griffins were gone. Suddenly worried, Zane entered. Luna, too, was gone.
There was a note on the table. Zane picked it up. It was written in red cursive script, as if done in blood.
My Dear Death: The fair moon is in My power. I cannot make her due, but I can make her wish she were dead. Terminate your strike, take your scheduled next client, and free Luna from her pain. She will go to Heaven directly, where you may join her at your convenience. Your most humble and obedient servant, The Prince of Evil
Zane stared at the message, absorbing its every implication. Suddenly it burst into flame in his hand. He dropped it, but it never touched the floor. It was gone.
There was no doubt it was from Satan. The moment one ploy failed, the Lord of Flies tried another. Now that Zane was safe and knew it, Satan was striking through the woman he loved — in life as well as death. Trust the Devil to have no scruples!
Was Satan bluffing again? Zane dropped into the easy chair before Luna's television set, trying to clarify his whirling doubts. There was something —
Ah. He had it. "Satan, you forget that Luna is my next client. I will go there to rescue her from your clutches, not to send her to Eternity." He looked at his orientation gems, fixing on Luna's location, for she remained the one he had to take before he could tune in on others.
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The television set came on by itself. "A bye has been issued, Death," Satan's face said from the screen. The Devil seemed to have an affinity for television. "Reset your watch, and it will orient on the next client."
Zane brightened momentarily. "Luna has been spared?"
"No, merely put on hold. She will go unassisted when her time comes."
When her time came. That would be the moment Zane ended his strike — except that he would balk again when he had to take her. What would Satan gain by this maneuver?
"She can't go unassisted," Zane said. "She is now in balance. Only I can take her — and that I will not do."
"She will not remain in balance," Satan said.
Zane's suspicion returned full-force. "What do you mean?"
"My minions of the living realm will cause her to react, either in a good or an evil manner. Probably good, and that will tip her toward Heaven. Thus the assurance in My note. You need not attend her at all; merely resume your duties, and all else will take care of itself."
Zane liked this less and less. "You will torture her — and make her better than she is now? I don't understand that."
"Ponder it at leisure," Satan said. "But do.not ponder overlong. My esteemed associate. My Earthly minions are a brutal lot, already damned to Hell for good cause, who like torture for its own sake."
The picture shifted to an Earthly chamber. There was Luna, tied to a chair, looking defiant. Three thuglike men were with her.
"You're on," Satan's voice came. "Make your demonstration." The way he said it, the syllables "de-mon" projected from the final word.
One thug drew a bright knife from a sheath. "Right, Boss," he said. He approached Luna.
Zane suffered an abrupt siege of intense rage and fear.
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They really were going to torture Luna! He wanted to mount Mortis and charge to the rescue, but couldn't tear himself away from the television screen. How could they change Luna's balance by such means? And how could he abate this horror when his own magic was gone? He might be secure from assassination himself, but he could not physically get past the barriers Satan's minions would have erected to bar his way to Luna. Satan was really putting the screws to him.
The thug brandished the knife before Luna's face. "Pray to Satan for succor," he said.
"Satan can go succor himself!" she snapped defiantly,
The knife moved closer. "One prayer to Satan can save you a lot of pain." The thug licked his lips.
Luna blanched, obviously frightened. "What do you want of me?"
"Only your prayer," the thug said, leering.
"All Satan can have is my curse!"
Then she did a double take. "That's what you want! If I pray to Satan, I'll be damned by a trifling amount. If I curse him, I'll be blessed similarly. Either way, my soul nudges off balance, and I can die without Death's personal attendance."
"So that's it!" Zane exclaimed. "You're trying to get her removed from my list entirely! When my strike ends, you can kill her immediately, and I can't balk you any more!"
"You are learning," Satan agreed.
"It won't work! She has caught on to your plot!"
"We shall see."
On the screen, the thug made a sudden motion with the knife, slicing it at Luna's front. It severed the material of her blouse. He sliced again, cutting away more blouse without touching her skin. In moments she had been stripped to the waist, her hands still bound behind her.
Now the thug put away his knife and fetched a black box with dials on one face and a pair of wires terminating in small disks. He extended the two extremities toward the tips of Luna's bare breasts.
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"I wonder whether you appreciate the quality of pain that can be induced by electric shock," Satan said conversationally to Zane. "No physical damage shows, and the intensity is finely tuned. She can be made to suffer a small amount — "
The electrodes touched Luna's nipples. She jumped, with an exclamation of pain.
"Pray to my Lord Satan," the thug said. "Or curse Him. Then the treatment will stop."
" — or a greater amount," Satan continued.
The electrodes touched again. This time Luna's scream was piercing. Zane saw her whole body stiffen with the agony of the current passing through her chest.
When it stopped, her head fell forward, her face beaded with chill sweat, her lips so pale they almost disappeared. She was sobbing brokenly with reaction.
"You can free her from this, Death," Satan said. "I know you do not like to inflict needless pain."
Seeing her like that, Zane was tempted. He couldn't stand to watch the woman he loved being tortured. This was worse than the jaws of the Hot Smoke dragon, for this was deliberate cruelty, with no hope of unconsciousness or death. Unless he yielded...
"Speak to her, Death," Satan said persuasively. "Tell her to curse Me, and go to Heaven for Eternity."
Zane hesitated. There was so much in the balance here!
The thug touched Luna's breasts again. This time she tried not to scream, but an anguished sound squeaked past her constricted throat — the sort of sound one might hear from a mouse being run over by the tire of a truck. There was perspiration on all of her body that was exposed, and her eyes were staring, the whites showing too much.
"Luna!" Zane cried. "Curse Satan! Don't let them do this to you!"
Slowly her head turned, seeking his voice. She heard him. And Zane knew he had betrayed her — and the world.
Then she forced a smile like a grimace. "Oh, no, you don't. Father of Lies!" she gasped. "You can't fool me with Zane's voice! I know he would never urge me to betray his trust, no matter what!"
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Zane felt as if the electrodes had been touched to his own flesh. She believed in him — but he had proved unworthy. He had broken, not she.
The thug extended the terrible electrodes again.
Zane squeezed his eyes shut. He had seen his mother suffering and had acted to free her from a life that had become intolerably burdensome. He had released a whole ward full of suffering old people. He had tried in every case to ameliorate the pain of death where death was necessary, and to eliminate suffering. His whole developing philosophy of death was as a legitimate end to pain. This time it was Luna who suffered, because of him — and he had no right to free her.
He heard her strangled scream. He kept his eyes closed, seeing an explosion of matchsticks. Formations of thought — and how could any of them resolve this crisis?
Suddenly the fifth pattern flashed in his imagination:
The symbol for intuitive thinking. His mind concentrated, assimilating it, hurdling the intuitive gap —
"Death be not stayed!" he cried.
He launched himself from the chair, charged outside, and vaulted onto his ready horse. "Go to Luna!" he cried, showing the orientation stones.
The stallion leaped into the sky. The globe of Earth whirled by beneath them. Then they arrived — on board an orbiting satellite, with normal gravity generated by magic. Naturally Satan was involved in space missions, to make sure no people escaped his power by fleeing planet Earth. But if the Prince of Evil's minions had thought to escape Death here, they were fools.
A thug appeared. He gaped. "A horse in space!" he exclaimed, amazed.
"More than that, ilk of Satan," Zane said grimly.
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"Hey, you can't pass here!" the thug protested. "Where's your Infernal clearance?"
Zane faced him. "Mortal, look at me," he directed.
For the first time, the thug saw him as his office. The man's eyes frogged. "Death!"
"Now stand clear, lest you feel my touch," Zane said.
But the thug recovered some backbone. "You won't kill me. You're on strike. If you take my soul, my Lord Satan can kill your woman."
"You have placed your trust in the wrong power," Zane said. He reached for the thug, who stiffened in fear but stood his ground like a half-bold cur.
Zane caught the man's soul and jerked it out of his body. The man collapsed. But the soul was only half out; it remained anchored in the host, as had the soul of the woman on life-support machinery. The thug was not dead, only separated from his soul partway for the moment.
Zane let go of the soul. It snapped elastically back into its host. The thug opened his eyes and stared dazedly up at the cloaked figure before him.
"Go and tell your fell master that Death is on his way and shall not be denied," Zane said.
The man climbed weakly to his feet and staggered down the passage.
Zane followed more slowly. Soon three more thugs charged up to intercept him.
"Mortis," Zane said.
The great Deathhorse, who had remained in the background as Zane faced the thug, stepped up. Zane remounted. "Trample any who do not give way," Zane said coldly. "They have had fair warning."
The stallion walked forward. His muscles rippled and his steel hooves gleamed. Death's eerie gaze shone down from above the massive animal. The sound of their tread became loud. Dazzled, the minions of Satan gave way, like rabbits before a wolf. The horse paced on.
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One of the thugs drew a small machine gun from under his jacket. He pointed it at Zane. "Your magic's gone, Death," he said. "Maybe we can't kill you, but we can riddle you with bullets. That will stop you!"
"Do that, cretin," Zane said, and sat firmly while the Deathsteed continued the advance.
The gun fired a burst.
The bullets ricocheted from the Deathcloak and tore into the walls and equipment of the space station. Zane remained unhurt.
The thug stared. "But — "
Zane stretched his right arm toward the man. He crooked his finger. The thug's soul began to draw from his body as if pulled on a string. "Do not believe all that the Father of Lies tells you," Zane said. He released the soul, and the man fell back, gasping.
Mortis marched on down the central hall. Death rode regally onward, seeming invincible.
Two Hellhounds appeared. The first leaped for Zane head-on, jaws gaping, fire jetting.
Mortis front leg jerked up. The metallic hoof caught the Hound in the head. The full force of the creature's momentum carried it into that hoof, crushing its skull. It dropped lifelessly.
The other circled and pounced from the side. Zane extended his left arm. The great jaws of the Hound took in the gloved hand and closed on the sleeve surrounding the elbow.
Zane turned his head slowly to look the monster in the eyes. "This becomes annoying," he said and flexed his fingers in the Hound's throat, grasping the back of its tongue. "Begone, beast, or I will make my displeasure known." He squeezed the tongue.
The creature stared. Then, slowly, it dissolved. Soon Zane was left with his arm extended, unhurt, in a cloud of smoke. His magic had been stronger than that of the monster.
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They moved into the next chamber. There was Luna, still tied half-naked to the chair. "Death!" she cried. "Don't take me!"
Zane knew it was no plea of cowardice she made. She expected to live in agony — to foil Satan.
Zane dismounted as the three thugs attending Luna turned to face him, staring. "I have come to take you home — alive," he said. "But first I have something to settle with these minions of the Evil One." He drew the great scythe from its holster on the horse.
"No!" Luna cried. "Don't kill anyone! You mustn't — "
"Fear not. I shall merely hurt them a little, as they have hurt you," Zane said, unfolding the terrible blade. "I will cut off their hands and feet, but they shall not die." He smiled savagely. "No, they shall not die!"
The thugs, abruptly terrified, scrambled away.
A fourth man entered the chamber. "I think not," he said.
Zane hardly glanced at him. "Death shall not be denied." He hefted the scythe and took a step toward the three thugs, who cowered abjectly against the wall.
"Death shall have no dominion," the stranger said. He pointed at the floor before Zane, and fire rose from it.
This was evidently a higher functionary. "I will rescue my love, though Hell bar the way." Zane swept the blade of the scythe through the flames, and they were cut off like so many weeds. In a moment they died.
The man made a circle in the air with one finger. The space inside the circle fell out like cut paper, leaving a window into a horrendous furnace. "Hell does bar the way. Do not tamper with things you do not understand."
Zane made a circle with his own left arm, flinging a length of his cape over the window, stifling it until it disappeared. "Who the devil are you to oppose me with such foolish tricks and to slight my intelligence?" He shifted the blade of the scythe meaningfully. "The Devil himself shall not interfere with Death any more."
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The man's face melted. From the dripping flesh emerged the glowing countenance of the Prince of Evil. "I am the Devil, Death!"
Zane was for a moment taken aback. "How can you be out of Hell?"
"I can be anywhere I wish!" Satan exclaimed, a ripple of flame playing across his features. "Evil is inherent in all activities of man. Now bow down before Me and leave off your inane posturings, for your case is lost."
Uncertainty tore at Zane. He had made short work of Satan's Earthly and beastly minions — but Satan himself was another matter. He looked around — and saw Luna still tied to the chair, the three thugs by her, one holding the electrodes used to torture her. Renewed fury suffused him.
"Then I shall deal with you," Zane said, facing Satan.
The Prince of Evil smiled sardonically. "With Me? How do you propose to do that? Your magic is gone, and you are but a man."
"My magic gone? So you claimed before, but it was and is a lie. I received no confirmation from Purgatory. My magic horse remained, and my magic gems, and my invincible cloak. I was never without magic! Lies are all you have. Father of Lies. You suggest you can arbitrarily deprive me of my powers." Zane stepped toward the Devil. "Satan, it is not your prerogative! Death is inviolate, as it must be, not to be tampered with by the likes of you. Where Death has dominion, the Lord of Flies has none." Zane took another step. "Now get behind me, Satan, and disperse the ilk you brought here. Stay me no longer from my mission, lest I orient my power on you."
Satan harrumphed, and his horns glowed. "A month ago you were the least of pip-squeaks scrambling to pay your back rent. The assumption of a cloak and scythe does not convert a nothing-creature to a something - creature. You have delusions of grandeur that will quickly be dispelled. You bluff, mortal man."
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For answer, Zane swept the deadly scythe at Satan's ankles and tail.
The Prince of Evil jumped back, avoiding the cut. He flicked his fingers, and a sparkling globe of energy floated at Zane's face. "Fool! Then feel the wrath of Satan!"
Zane stood still, not even attempting to evade the globe. It settled about his head, blazing high, coloring his vision as if he looked out from an inferno, but there was no heat. In a moment it dissipated harmlessly. The Deathhood had protected him. "The bluff is yours. Father of Lies."
Satan sneered. "You talk big, mortal man, holding the magic scythe and wrapped in the magic cloak, backed by the magic steed. These are mere tools of the office. Without them you are nothing."
"You lie again," Zane said. "You have no power over me, regardless." He set down the scythe and lifted the cloak from his shoulders.
"No!" Luna cried from the chair. "Don't let Satan trick you into powerlessness, Zane!"
Now it was her faith that was weak, instead of his. Zane smiled and threw the cape aside. Then he removed his shoes and stripped off his gloves and gems.
"You are indeed a fool," Satan gloated.
"Then all you have to do is stand still," Zane said, "and we shall make the proof of my prerogatives." Slowly he reached one bare hand toward the Devil.
Satan nudged back. "What idiocy is this? I can destroy you with a single flick of My finger!"
'Then you had better do it," Zane said, "for I am about to hook your soul with my own finger." He extended his hand farther.
Satan moved back some more, staying just clear. "Pool! I am trying to spare you the ignominy of being humiliated!"
"How very kind of you. Father of Lies." Zane leaned forward, shooting his hand at Satan's midsection.
The Devil puffed into nothingness.
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Zane turned to see the Prince of Evil re-form behind him. "So you got behind me, Satan," he remarked. "I have moved you. Do you think that improves your position? Strike, Lucifer! Do not spare my feelings any further. Humiliate me. Destroy Death while he stands vulnerable. I turn my back on you again, to facilitate your chastisement." And he turned away.
Satan sighed. "You have prevailed. Death. You called My bluff and forced Me to give way. You have at last realized your full power."
"What else is news?" Zane picked up his cloak and got dressed again.
"If I may inquire," Satan asked without sarcasm, "as one Incarnation to another — what gave you the clue?"
"The fifth pattern of matchsticks," Zane said.
"Intuitive thinking," Satan agreed, comprehending immediately. "That would do it."
"I realized that if there were any way for you to meddle in the affairs of Death, or to stop Death from performing his duty, you would have done so long ago. No magic cloak would have stopped you, the Incarnation of Evil, the personification of black magic, whose powers of enchantment are not matched anywhere on Earth. It had to be inherent in the office, not in the paraphernalia. Death has to be inviolable, absolutely certain. Not even God, the Incarnation of Good, acted against Death when I declined to exercise my power in the world. Only Death can determine his business. Therefore you had to be powerless against me in this instance. I cannot defend this by logic; I simply know it is true. I have faith in my office."
Satan nodded. "You do indeed. Against that faith, even I can not prevail. Yet had you chosen another issue, you would never have been able to oppose Me. Your power is less than Mine, as evil lives after death."
"I recognize that," Zane said. "But I met you on my own turf, which is not a matter of physical locale. Never again will you bluff me there."
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"You were a man performing an office," Satan said. "Now you have become the office."
"Yes."
"And who informed you about the formations of matchsticks?"
"Nature," Zane said, realizing only now the extent of her oblique advice to him.
"That green mother!" Satan snarled with disgust, and vanished.
Zane went to Luna. "Begone, vermin," he told the thugs, who hastened to oblige.
"But how did you do it?" Luna asked as he untied her and put the Deathcloak about her bare torso. "No one is stronger than Satan, except maybe God."
Zane realized that she had not grasped all the implications of his confrontation with the Prince of Evil. She still thought of him as a man — and indeed, he was a man, with a man's love for his woman. "To be strong is not to be omnipotent," he explained. "There are seven Incarnations, not five, when we include Good and Evil, rendering them G-od and D-evil. No one can say for sure whether one Incarnation is superior to another, but certainly each is supreme in his own bailiwick. So while Death can not balk Satan's administration of Hell, however corrupt it may be, Satan cannot balk Death's activity either. And no Incarnation can directly harm any other, unless that other accedes by design or ignorance or carelessness. Once I realized that and truly believed it and comprehended its implications, Satan had no further power over me." He smiled. "Or you. I'll take you by Purgatory now, to verify that Satan has dropped his claim to your early demise. Then I'll resume my job."
"You are brilliant!" she exclaimed. "Once you had that revelation, Satan himself was unable to oppose you. I see now the wisdom of my father's decision in giving me to you. I'm sorry I lacked the faith in you that you had in me."
She did not realize how weak his faith had been, before his intuition! "I hoped Satan could not oppose me," he admitted.
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She stared at him. "You mean you didn't knowT'
"How can one know an intuition? There is no direct connection between question and answer. I could not be sure of its validity until I tested it."
"So you deliberately stripped yourself of all your magic and challenged Satan — not sure you were right?"
"That is so," he confessed, embarrassed.
"Why, Zane, that's the most courageous act I ever saw!"
"It was my final desperation ploy, when I realized that Satan himself was participating. If there had been any other way — "
"I thought I could love you, before," she said. "Now I am sure of it."
"It was not, ultimately, for love I did this," he said. "Love counseled me to let you die and go to Heaven so you would not suffer any more pain. But I had to keep you alive for your role in saving humanity from Satan twenty years hence."
"Yes," she agreed. "Now I know I will never yield to Satan. I have come to understand him too well." She paused, turning to Zane. "One other thing — "
He looked at her. The torture had not broken her spirit. Her flesh surely had not recovered, but she was radiantly beautiful in the Deathhood. "Yes?"
Luna flung her arms about him and kissed him with amazing passion. "Those, twenty years until my turn comes," she said. "You and I — "
"Life and Death," he agreed.
They mounted Mortis and leaped for Purgatory.
They arrived at the Mansion of Death, and Zane conducted Luna inside. She was mortal, but somehow he had known he could take her with him this time. He could take her anywhere — alive. She was now his acknowledged Deathmaid.
They settled in the living room, relaxing, and watched the television. "The hearing petitioned by Death has been canceled," the news announcer said. "The issue has been resolved privately." The announcer smirked. "It is rumored that the horns of the Prince of Evil are still steaming."
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"That's what I wanted to verify," Zane said. "You definitely will not die before your time, Luna. Now I can return to my work."
"You had better," she murmured. "Thousands of people are suffering. They really need your service."
"I will have Chronos move me back far enough so that that suffering is erased; there will be no gap for the mortals."
"Now conjecture is rife about the future status of the new Death," the announcer continued. "He has virtually turned his office upside down, making substantial waves through both Heaven and Hell. We sent queries to God and Satan, but neither deigned to comment."
Zane shook his head in rueful admiration. "Purgatory has one sharp news staff," he said. 'Too sharp at times, I think."
"This is interesting," Luna said. "I did not realize you were such an important figure in Eternity."
"I'm not. This news is personalized. I'm sure the other Incarnations get news relating to them. We can turn it off." He got up and moved toward the set.
"However," the announcer continued, "we were able to interview several witnesses destined to testify at Death's trial-period assessment."
Zane's hand paused near the knob. "Witnesses?"
"Incarnations require special handling," the announcer explained. "Their powers are such that ordinary definitions of good and evil do not necessarily apply. In this instance, the four other Incarnations have pronounced this Death viable. They testify that he has been put to the question, unofficially, and that his answer was sufficient. They are willing to work with him for whatever portion of Eternity relates."
"Oh," Zane said. "Naturally they're satisfied. They got me into this."
"But neither they nor my father picked you for your regular job performance," Luna said. "Perhaps they did not expect you to be a good Death in that respect."
"I surely lived up to that nonexpectation," he said ruefully.
"I wonder."
"While nothing is certain until the assessment itself has been rendered," the television announcer said, "we believe it is fair to say that the recommendation of one other key witness will have overwhelming force."
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"What is this?" Luna asked.
"Maybe one of my clients," Zane replied uncertainly.
"And here he is," the announcer said. "The key witness, the one who knows whether the burden on the soul of Death will shift toward Heaven or toward Hell as he enters his regular term in the office."
"Who?" Zane demanded.
The camera swung around to center the picture on — Mortis. The Deathsteed.
"And what do you say, witness?" the announcer asked.
The horse neighed.
"This is ludicrous!" Luna exclaimed.
"I don't know," Zane said. "Mortis is no ordinary horse."
"And there you have it, folks. From the horse's mouth." The announcer paused. "Oh, the translation? Of course. Mortis says his new master has demonstrated a quality unique among Incarnations, and this alone transforms his errors to assets. He will have a positive freighting on his soul, and will go on to become one of the truly distinguished holders of the office." He paused, while Zane stood amazed. "Congratulations, Death. We of Purgatory are proud to have you with us."
"Zane!" Luna exclaimed. "You won!"
"But all I did was try to help make it easier for people to die," Zane said. "I broke several rules, and often I bungled it anyway."
Then the television camera swung upward to show the welkin, the lovely dome of the Earthly sky. In a moment it turned from day to night, and the stars scintillated in their myriads, and the images of rafts of angels formed, each angel with a shining halo. All of them applauded politely: the salutation of Heaven. It seemed to Zane that one of them looked like his mother, and others resembled some of his clients.
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The camera swung down to show the fires of the nether world, with its massed demons, all of them sticking out their forked tongues. But dimly visible behind them were the condemned souls of Hell, and here and there among these were covert thumbs-up gestures.
Zane smiled, experiencing a joy as deep as Eternity. "Thanks, folks," he said, and clicked off the set. "I'll settle for the applause of one." He turned to Luna.
"Always. Forever," she agreed, kissing him.
"But I wonder what that unique quality of mine is supposed to be?" he said as an afterthought.
"It is why I love you," she said.
Zane, back in the routine of his office, saw that the mother was suffering terribly from the first shock of her grief as she cradled her dying baby in her arms. He was still working on the enormous backlog of clients that had accumulated during his strike, but he could not let the bereaved mother suffer more than she had to.
Zane stood before her. "Woman, recognize me," he said softly.
She looked up. Her mouth fell open in horror.
"Do not fear me," Zane said. "Your baby has an incurable malady, and is in pain, and shall never be free of it while he lives. It is best that he be released from the burden of life."
Her mouth worked in protest. "You — you wouldn't say that if one you loved had to go!"
"Yes, I would," he said sincerely. "I sent my own mother to Eternity, to end her suffering. I understand your grief and know it becomes you. But your child is the innocent victim of a wrongful act — " He did not repeat what she already knew, that the child had been conceived by incestuous rape and born syphilitic. " — and it is better for him and for you that he never face the horrors of such a life."
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Her haunted eyes gazed up at him, beginning to see Death as more friend than nemesis. "Is — is it really best?"
"Samuel Taylor Coleridge said it best," Death replied gently, extending his hand for the suffering baby's soul. "Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to Heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there."
As he spoke, he drew the tiny soul out. He knew even before he checked it that this one would go to Heaven, for now he had discretion in such cases.
"You're not the way I thought you would be," the woman said, recovering some stability now that the issue had been decided. "You have — " She faltered, seeking the appropriate word. "Compassion."
Compassion. Suddenly it fell into place. This was the quality Zane brought to the office of Death that the office had lacked before. It made him feel good to realize that the delays he had indulged in and the rules he had broken — that such acts could be construed positively instead of negatively. He cared about his clients, strove for what was best for them within the dreadful parameters of his office, and was no longer ashamed to admit it.
He knew he had been installed in this office for reasons not relating to merit. But he had conquered his limitations and knew that he would perform with reasonable merit henceforth.
"Death came with friendly care..." he repeated as he set his watch for the next client. He liked the thought.
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END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN