Iceberg

"If it's any compliment," she said in a throaty voice, "I never for a minute believed your gay act,"

"It takes one to know one."

She turned pale. "What I became is not the same."

"What you became is a cold, shrewd, calculating witch."

"No!"

"Kristjan Fyrie was a warm, honest lover of humanity. Your change was emotional as well as physical.

People to you are only to be used, to be thrown away when their usefulness ends. You're cold and you're sick."

She shook her head. "No… no! I've changed.

Yes. But I'm not cold… not cold." She held out her arms. "Let me prove it."

They stood in the center of the room, facing each other silently. And then she saw the expression forming on Pitts face, and her arms slowly dropped to her sides.

She looked dazed, those exotic eyes were stricken. She stared at his face with a strange, paralyzed intentness.

Pitts features were coldly menacing. 'The purplish bruises, the swollen flesh, the jagged cuts all worked together in one terrible mask of disgust. His eyes no longer saw her loveliness. He could only see the unidentifiable ashes of what had once been men. He saw Hu

Kirsti paled and backed away a step. "Dirk, what's the matter?"

"God save thee," he said.

He turned and opened the door. The first few steps toward the elevator were the hardest. Then it got easier. By the time he reached the main floor, walked to the curb and hailed a cab, the old confident, relaxed composure was back.

The driver opened the door and dropped the flag.

"Where to, sir?"

Pitt sat there a moment in silence. Then suddenly he knew where he had to go. He had no choice. He was what he was.

"The Newport I