A speech was being made, and Jaspersen was listening so intently that she could not attract his attention. Someone motioned her to sit down behind him and wait, and she did this, feeling important as she sank into the leather seat and watched her skirt draw back above her white knitted knees. The room was brightly, hotly lit, and was decorated—somewhat datedly, Leslie thought—in blond wood and blue furnishings. Absently folding the message for Jaspersen over and over until it began to part at the creases, Leslie looked curiously up at the half-empty public gallery and the glass booths of the interpreters. This was more like the real thing: more, in fact, like television. It was the setting in which Leslie had imagined herself when she applied to the Organization, and of which she had not, until now, caught a single glimpse. Her duties consisted in the main of interleaving pages with carbon paper and typing on them at someone else’s dictation: yet Leslie had repeatedly been told by her superiors that what was wanted was someone who would take an interest in this work. What was wanted, Leslie concluded, was some kind of a nut.

Leslie did not care to know what was going on here in the Committee; since everyone else obviously did know, involvement on her part seemed unnecessary. She felt agreeably secure in the presence of all these diligent faces. And Jaspersen, she noticed, was the most engrossed of all, his elbow bent on his knee, his hand supporting his intent brow.

“Recognizing the basic fluidity of the situation”—the speaker paused, poured water into a glass—“and in the firm conviction”—he drank—“that the pooling of resources…”

When Jaspersen raised his head, a hand appeared at his elbow. It was a curious little hand, plump and pink with astonishing silver nails. Some of these nails were of Oriental attenuation, others were bluntly broken off. Jaspersen, staring at the hand, was tempted to take it in his own. However, he merely accepted a pleated paper from its irregular talons.

He opened the paper, turned it round, and read. “Unification is postponed.”

Jaspersen sat still for a moment or two, with the paper in his hand. He then put it in his folder and dismissed Leslie with a backward nod. He leaned forward and touched his own hand to the elbow in front of him.

The Chief’s head veered to a familiar attitude—not detached from the proceedings of the meeting, yet inclined, receptive, authoritative. It was an attitude of head and shoulders that had been perfected within the Organization and was best demonstrated on the floor of a large conference room.

Jaspersen whispered into the leaning ear. “Unification is postponed.”

The ear appeared to frown. “Not coming up?”

“Not today.”

“—and fervently believing in the vital importance—”

“Nothing to stay for then,” the Chief murmured, turning farther round.

“—and crucial significance—”

“Nothing at all.”