[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science-Fiction, May 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Sandra Drake sat in her perfect apartment on Telfu, and cursed in an unladylike manner. She was plying a needle with some difficulty, and the results of her work were decidedly amateurish. But her clothing was slowly going to pieces, and there was not a good tailor in nine light-years of Sandra Drake.…
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