obtained his driver's license some five years earlier. He strolled through Rockefeller Center passing the sunken ice-rink-temporarily trans- formed into an alfresco restaurant resplendent with colorful umbrellas to delight the summer tourists and on through the flower-bedecked mall to Fifth Avenue. He waited for the onrush of one-way traffic to stop, then crossed the street and entered Lornes.

It was cooler inside. Cass blotted the perspiration from his brow and started toward the elevators, passing between ground floor displays calculated to bewitch all with their countless frivolities and feminine delights. There above the hosiery counters were the divine flesh- colored plastic legs he so envied for their perfect form, set high on sheets of glass illuminated from below to emphasize the magic sheer- ness of the delicate stockings they wore. He made a mental note to stop and buy a few pairs on the way out. His eyes moved to the jewelry counters which sparkled like newly-discovered caves of treasures from the Spanish Main, drawing him in some strange hypnotic impulse until close enough to be caught under the spell of the beckoning fingers of ring-laden hand-forms that grew like graceful Brancusi sculptures from rich black velvet cushions on the glass counter-top. He bought a dress ring and a string of amethyst-colored beads to break the spell.

The fantastic world of Lornes did strange things to Cass. As he strolled the aisles he sometimes feared that his great secret would be discovered that some moniscient, merely by glancing into his eyes, would be able to read his mind and know everything; see into his very soul to know the thoughts and fantasies that even he, who lived and dreamed them all the time, could not fully describe. Cass tore himself away from a display of silken kerchiefs from France, from Thailand and India, and sheer pastel squares from Japan, from the fine lace-edged linen handkerchiefs of Ireland and from a long row of umbrellas brightened with gay spring flowers. He passed a rack of belts in crushed leather and shiny patent that reflected the ceiling light-inten- tionally soft to enhance appearances. Such minds these tip-toeing decorators have, he thought, and yes, he really did need a golden chain- link belt to hang loosely about the groovy orchid velvet dress he bought last week. His mind wandered to the dress and how he loved its sweet mini-ness; his legs showing so long and shapely even if not exactly like those lovely forms. From somewhere in the store he felt the unmistakable watching of eyes- -a scan or stare he could not tell. Ignoring it, he moved along toward the elevators which lay just beyond the cosmetic counters—a coalescence of a thousand scents. To Cass, the perfume department was a world unto itself—the same in any store—

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