By Cyril M. Kornbluth, Remy Charlip

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The rent is seventy-five dollars," he said. "You speak English very well, Mr. " "Thank you," Clurg said, pleased. " He opened one of his shiny-new leather suitcases and calmly laid six heavy little paper rolls on Walter's desk. He broke open a seventh and laid down three mint-new silver dollars. "There I am," he said. " Walter didn't know what to say. It had never happened before. People paid by check or in bills. They just didn't pay in silver dollars. But it was money—why shouldn't Mr. Clurg pay in silver dollars if he wanted to?

Ke went alone, after a bitter quarrel. At the Enterprise office he was wearily listened to by a reporter, who wearily looked over the twenty-fifth-century newspaper. "I don't know what you're peddling, Mr. Lachlan," he said, "but we like people to buy their ads in the Enterprise. " "But—" Walter sputtered. "Sam, would you please ask Mr. " the reporter was saying into the phone. To Walter he explained, "Mr. " The foreman was a huge, white-haired old fellow, partly deaf. " Mr. Morris looked at it and smelled it and said, showing no interest in the reading matter: "American Type Foundry Futura number nine, discontinued about ten years ago.

Angie explained smoothly: “The doctor asked me to take care of the massage today. Now that he has the tissue-firming process beginning, it only requires somebody trained in his methods—” As she spoke, her eyes swiveled to the instrument case—open! She cursed herself for the single flaw as the woman followed her gaze and recoiled. ” she demanded. “Are you going to cut me with them? I thought there was something fishy—” “Please, Mrs. Coleman,” said Angie, “please, dear Mrs. Coleman—you don’t understand about the .

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A Mile beyond the Moon by Cyril M. Kornbluth, Remy Charlip
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