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can’t think why they’ve let things get this far. It needs tackling with a firm hand.”
    “Easier said than done,” Pa said.
    “That’s the whole trouble. Too much saying, too little doing.”
    The news reader started talking about stocks and shares and a financial panic, and Angela, who had been sitting staring at the screen, got up and left the room. Martha and Pa went on talking about the rioting. She was getting angrier, and he was agreeing; he never liked being on the wrong side of her for long. He was saying yes, the Trippy Show should be banned, when I heard the front door open and close.
    I said, “That was Angela.”
    Pa turned to me. “What?”
    “Just then. Going out.”
    He asked Martha, “Did she say anything to you?”
    “No. I suppose she could have gone to Emma’s.”
    Emma was a friend of hers in the village.
    I said, “There was that bit on the news, about a Trippy commune in Exeter.”
    “She couldn’t—” Martha began. Pa went for the front door, and I followed him. Emma’s house was a couple of hundred yards to the left. Angela was heading right, in the direction of the bus station.
    • • •
    Pa needed my help in bringing her back; she fought for some time before suddenly going slack on us. He carried her to her room, and Martha and I watched her. She lay staring at the ceiling. When Pa came back she didn’t answer his questions, didn’t look at him or even move. Dr. Monmouth turned up a few minutes later. He lived close by.
    He was a small man, shorter than Pa, with a pink and white baby face and wispy hair. He spoke fast, stammering a bit. Pa explained what had happened.
    When he’d examined Angela and shone a light in her eyes, he said to Pa, “As you know, I use hypnosis sometimes. As we both know, it’s not a line you care for. If you like, I’ll sedate her and refer her to a p-pediatrician. But I would like to try hypnosis. It might just give us an idea what’s troubling her. M-may I?”
    Pa said reluctantly, “I don’t suppose it can do any harm.”
    “I’m sure it can’t.”
    Dr. Monmouth got her to sit up, handling her gently but firmly. From his bag he produced a steel ball on a chain and began to swing it in front of her.I’d seen something similar on a show, but it was interesting to watch, and listen to his voice, gentle and monotonous: “You are feeling sleepy . . . sleepy . . . sleepy. . . . Your eyelids are getting heavy. . . . Your eyes are closing . . . closing. . . . You are asleep. . . .”
    I was getting drowsy myself.
    Dr. Monmouth slipped the ball in his pocket. He said, “Angela. Can you hear me?”
    In a thick voice she said, “Yes.”
    “Is there anything you have to do—you m-must do?”
    No reply.
    He said, “Tell me. What is it you have to do?”
    She said slowly, “Obey the Tripod.”
    “What does that m-mean, Angela?”
    “The Tripod is good. The Tripod knows best.”
    “Best about what?”
    “About everything.”
    “So what do you do?”
    “I do what the Tripod tells me.”
    “And who told you this?”
    “The Tripod.”
    “Did the T-Tripod tell you to run away from home and join the Trippies?”
    “Yes.”
    Dr. Monmouth held her wrists in his hands. “Listen, Angela. Listen carefully. There is no Tripod. You have never watched the T-Trippy Show. There is no T-Trippy Show. You don’t like watching television.You are your own person, and no one, nothing, can rule your mind. Now, I am going to count to five, and on the count of five you will wake up, not r-remembering the words I’ve said, but r-remembering what I’ve told you. One, two, three . . .”
    Her eyes opened on five. She said, “What is it?” She looked at us standing round the bed. “I’ve not been ill or anything?”
    He smiled reassuringly. “Just a turn. You’re all right now. Fit for anything. Want to watch t-television?”
    “No.” She shook her head violently. “No, I don’t.”
    • • •
    Angela stayed in her