The telephone rang.
Malone rolled over on the couch and muttered under his breath. Was it
absolutely necessary for someone to call him at seven in the morning?
He grabbed at the receiver with one hand, and picked up his cigar from
the ashtray with the other. It was bad enough to be awakened from a
sound sleep--but when a man hadn't been sleeping at all, it was even
worse.
He'd been sitting up since before five that morning, worrying about the
telepathic spy, and at the moment he wanted sleep more than he wanted
phone calls.
"Gur?" he said, sleepily and angrily, thankful that he'd never had a
visiphone installed in his apartment.