By this time Milt’s habit of interruption was ingrown. “You mean you aren’t going to destroy the Earth?”
“Precisely.”
Milt sank onto the sofa with a strangled gasp. It was as though the lid had been lifted from the pressure cooker in which he had been steaming for three days.
“Thank God,” he murmured, head in hands. The green man went to the door.
“I trust you not to mention this affair,” he said. “You’re not liable to encounter much belief. So for your own sake, I hope you will be discreet.”
Milt nodded at the floor.
“It’s been a pleasure knowing you,” the green man said. And he was gone.
It was only natural that the episode would effect a change in Milt’s nature. Naomi approved of his deepened maturity, and so did Naomi’s parents, who met her new husband a week later. Milt found them pleasant, agreeable people. Mrs. Winkler was a splendid cook, and Mr. Winkler shared his interest in the literature of science fiction.
The only thing that bothered Milt Klowitz was the vague notion that he had met Naomi’s father before. There was something familiar about the man. Something about the nose.