It's undoubtedly difficult to live with someone who is Different. He must, because he is Different, live by other ways. But what makes it so difficult is that, for some reason he thinks you are Different!
Stigma?" I demanded. "I know Psixieland when I hear it, Miss Hall. Don't tell me that wasn't telepathic jazz."
She tossed her short hair-do around. "My side-men were TP's," she conceded. "Why do you think I was playing box chords? They knew what I was playing--I didn't know what they'd play."
Well, some of it was adding up. Still, I had to be sure. "I see. Tell me, Mary, where were your parents on the 19th of April in '75?"
She sat up straight beside Keys on the bench, and her fair face flushed pinkly. "Drop dead!" she told me.
I stood up. "See you in jail," I said, and started for the door.
* * * * *
Elmer had played tackle for Ol' Miss--he sure stopped me in my tracks. "I reckon we ain't through with you yet, Yankee," he grinned. He hurt me with his hands, big as country hams. My stiffened fingers jabbed his T-shirt where it covered his solar plexus, and he dropped back, gasping.
"You could learn a little about fighting, too, Psi," I growled. "And you're thr