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And is there much more than half of him left...? For two bits I'd ah skip it!" Nelsen smiled with half of his mouth. "I wanted to know about Ramos, too, Eileen. Thanks. But I was talking about Tiflin." "Umhmm you're right. He and Pal Igor were both around at my place about an hour before we were hit. I called him something worse than a bad omen. He was edgy almost like he used to be.

"Aw-right, aw-right who's asking you guys to believe me?" Tiflin cut in. "I'll beam the twins for you since I'd guess your transmitter won't reach. You can listen in, and talk back through my set. Okay?" "Let's see what happens just for kicks," Ramos said softly. "If you're calling some friends to come and get us, or anything, Tif well, you've had it!"

To these are added new attractions, in the shape of old celebrities from Europe: namely, Ronconi, the great Don Giovanni of the London opera; Tagliafico, the basso; Stecchi-Bottardi, tenor from Her Majesty's; Signora Ramos, prima donna from Turin; Signora Tagliafico; and greatest of all, to come when he has got through with the Russians, the famous tenor, Tamberlik.

Now welcome, steed and steel, What tidings do you bring of my fleet, What tidings of woe or weal?" "I'll tell thee tidings, lady, If my life thou wilt assure." "Tell on, Alfonzo Ramos, Thy life shall be secure." "Seville, Seville has fallen, To the arms of the Berber Moor." "But for my word thy head this day To the vultures had been tost!"

"I have something to do to-night," answered Caballuco, laconically and dryly. "You hear what he says, Remedios. Leave your business for to-morrow." "I can't do that. I will go alone." "No, you shall not go alone, niece. Now let us hear no more about the matter. Senor Ramos has something to do, and he cannot accompany you. Fancy if you were to be insulted by that rude man!" "Insulted!

Ramos and Tiflin, two wild characters with seldom-cut hair and pipe stem pants, who didn't look as if they could be trusted with a delicate unpacking operation, broke the Archer out with a care born of love, there in Paul Hendricks' big backroom shop, while the more stolid members and old Paul, silent in his swivel chair watched like hawks. "So who tries it on first?" Ramos challenged.

Their signatures were both small, in contrast to their size. Ramos, fully clad in the Archer, clowned his way forward to write his name with great flourishes, his ball point clutched in a space glove. Tiflin made a fierce, nervous scrawl. Mitch Storey wrote patiently, in big, square letters.

Otherwise thanks for everything... By the way do you ever listen in on outside news?" "Enough. Still quiet... And a fella named Miguel Ramos with nerve-controlled clamps for hands got a new, special bubb and took off for Pluto." "No! Damn fool... Almost as loony as you are, Mitch." "Less... Wake up, Nance. Dinner... Chicken raised right here..."

Quit any time you want. Plenty of different working sites. Mines, refineries, factories, construction..." "Serenitatis Base?" Ramos asked almost too quickly, Frank thought. And he sounded curiously serious. Was this the Ramos who should be going a lot farther than the Moon, anyway? "Hell, yes, fella!" said the job scout. "Then I'll sign." "Excellent... You, too, guy?"

There was even a mood like that of a lost, languid beach in the tropics. And how was that possible, with only a thin skin of stellene between them and frigid nothing? Ramos said just about what he had said long ago, it seemed, now. "Nuts the Big Vacuum ain't so tough." But he amended quickly, "Yeah, I know, Frank don't scowl. When you aren't looking, it can up and kill you.