By the time I got to the office, I was jittery as a new bride. The daystarted out all wrong. I woke up weak and washed out. I was patheticwhen I worked out with the weights--they felt as heavy as thePyramids. And when I walked from the subway to the building where MikeRenner and I have our offices, an obvious telepath tailed me all theway.I was ready for a scrap. St. Francis himself would have irritated thehell out of me, and I'd have gone speechless with rage at the meresight of sweet Alice Ben Bolt. The guy sitting with Mike in our lawlibrary didn't have a chance."What's this?" I growled, seeing Mike seated silent and staring at ourcaller across the big table. There wasn't a book or sheet of foolscapresting on the walnut. Work hadn't started. They were lying in waitfor me. Well, I was lying in wait for the first guy who opened hismouth."The Grievance Committee!" Mike said in a tone of stifled fury. "Thisis Horace Dunn.""_Carpe Diem_," I snarled at Horace, a hammered-down heavyweight."What's Renner done now?""Me?" Renner demanded, letting his fat jowls quivver. He's one ofthose burly types who looks like he should be playing pro ball andinstead thrives on showing clients how to keep two sets of books whilestaying out of jail.