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control of the dream.”
    “I disagree with you.”
    “Of course you do. But the fact remains that you would be dealing, and dealing constantly, with the abnormal. The power of a neurosis is unimaginable to ninety-nine point etcetera percent of the population, because we can never adequately judge the intensity of our own—let alone those of others, when we only see them from the outside. That is why no neuroparticipant will ever undertake to treat a fullblown psychotic. The few pioneers in that area are all themselves in therapy today. It would be like driving into a maelstrom. If the therapist loses the upper hand in an intense session he becomes the Shaped rather than the Shaper. The synapses respond like a fission reaction when nervous impulses are artificially augmented. The transference effect is almost instantaneous.
    “I did an awful lot of skiing five years ago. This is because I was a claustrophobe. I had to run and it took me six months to beat the thing—all because of one tiny lapse that occurred in a measureless fraction of an instant. I had to refer the patient to another therapist. And this was only a minor repercussion. If you were to go ga-ga over the scenery, girl, you could wind up in a rest home for life.”
    She finished her drink and Render refilled the glass. The night raced by. They had left the city far behind them, and the road was open and clear. The darkness eased more and more of itself between the falling flakes. The Spinner picked up speed.
    “All right,” she admitted, “maybe you’re right. Still, though, I think you can help me.”
    “How?” he asked.
    “Accustom me to seeing, so that the images will lose their novelty, the emotions wear off. Accept me as a patient and rid me of my sight-anxiety. Then what you have said so far will cease to apply. I will be able to undertake the training then, and give my full attention to therapy. Ill be able to sublimate the sight-pleasure into something else.”
    Render wondered.
    Perhaps it could be done. It would be a difficult undertaking, though.
    It might also make therapeutic history.
    No one was really qualified to try it, because no one had ever tried it before.
    But Eileen Shallot was a rarity—no, a unique item—for it was likely she was the only person in the world who combined the necessary technical background with the unique problem.
    He drained his glass, refilled it, refilled hers.
    He was still considering the problem as the “RE-COORDINATE” light came on and the car pulled into a cutoff and stood there. He switched off the buzzer and sat there for a long while, thinking.
    It was not often that other persons heard him acknowledge his feelings regarding his skill. His colleagues considered him modest. Offhand, though, it might be noted that he was aware that the day a better neuroparticipant began practicing would be the day that a troubled Homo sapiens was to be treated by something but immeasurably less than angels.
    Two drinks remained. Then he tossed the emptied bottle into the backbin.
    “You know something?” he finally said.
    “What?”
    “It might be worth a try.”
    He swiveled about then and leaned forward to re-coordinate, but she was there first. As he pressed the buttons and the S-7 swung around, she kissed him. Below her dark glasses her cheeks were moist.

II
    the suicide bothered him more than it should have, and Mrs. Lambert had called the day before to cancel her appointment. So Render decided to spend the morning being pensive. Accordingly, he entered the office wearing a cigar and a frown.
    “Did you see…?” asked Mrs. Hedges.
    “Yes.” He pitched his coat onto the table that stood in the far corner of the room. He crossed to the window, stared down. “Yes,” he repeated, “I was driving by with my windows clear. They were still cleaning up when I passed.”
    “Did you know him?”
    “I don’t even know the name yet. How could I?”
    “Priss Tully just called me—she’s a receptionist