I was quiet.

“Come to me Wednesday,” he said. “You’ll be very glad that you did.” He paused, and then his manner became even softer. “Look, I … feel that I know you,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know what you want! It’s dreadful to want something and not to have it. Ah, but then to know that it’s within your grasp.”

I looked up slowly into his eyes. The handsome face was tranquil, devoid of any stamp of expression, and the eyes seemed rather miraculous in their fragility and their precision. The skin itself seemed supple and as if it would feel like satin to my touch. And then came the voice again, in a seductive half whisper, the words touched with sadness.

“This is something only you and I can do,” he said. “In a way, it is a miracle which only you and I can understand.”

The face appeared monstrous suddenly in its tranquil beauty; even the voice seemed monstrous in its lovely timbre and eloquence, so expressive of empathy and even affection, perhaps even love.

I had the urge to grab the creature by the throat; I had the urge to shake it until it lost its composure and its semblance of deep feeling, but I would not have dreamed of doing so really. I was mesmerized by the eyes and the voice. I was allowing myself to be mesmerized, the way I had allowed those earlier physical sensations of assault to sweep over me. And it occurred to me that I allowed this simply because this being seemed so very fragile and foolish and I was sure of my own strength.

But that was a lie. I wanted to do this thing! I wanted to make this switch.

Only after a long while, he broke away, and let his gaze move over the café. Was he biding his time? What went on inside his clever conniving, and thoroughly concealed soul! A being who could steal bodies! Who could live inside another’s flesh.

Slowly, he took a pen from his pocket, tore loose one of the paper napkins, and wrote down the name and address of a bank. He gave this to me and I took it and slipped it into my pocket. I didn’t speak.

“Before we switch, I’ll give you my passport,” he said, studying me with every word. “The one with the correct face on it, of course. I’ll leave you comfortable in my house. I assume you’ll have money in your pockets. You always do. You’ll find it quite cozy, my house. You’ll like Georgetown.” His words were like soft fingers tapping the back of my hand, annoying yet vaguely thrilling. “It’s quite a civilized place, an old place. Of course it is snowing there. You realize it. It’s very cold. If you really don’t want to do it in a cold climate—”

“I don’t mind about the snow,” I said under my breath.

“Yes, of course. Well, I’ll be sure to leave you quite a few winter garments,” he said in the same conciliatory manner.