Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 44 — page 119: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION George Three retreated from the window in disgust, as he always did. But he stopped and reapproached it. Refuse. Was he, George Three, not refuse now? Refuse in the same way that the rat was, except that he was alive? And indeed, how much alive? The small grey spot fasci- nated him. It had bounced, he remembered. Would he? Suddenly there was a knock on the door. So they had come already! The knock was repeated. George Three placed a knee upon the window sill... Again the knock. ...and awkwardly brought up the other one. It struck him as odd that they knocked’ so long. But it did not matter. “George... George Three,”’ said a muffled voice. Stunned, George Three tee- tered on his knees. It was the voice of Lilian Four. So they had sent her. They had sent Lilian Four to see if he had died. Well... “George!” The thought swept him. It shook and saddened him. 118 Gone now was the last thing, the very last thing that he had saved. Now, surely there was nothing separating him from the rat below. A matter of a hundred feet of empty air. That was all. “George Three! Are you dead ?”’ Soon. Soon. He moved forward on the sill. The simple latch on his door clicked open. “George!” said the girl, bursting into the room. Against his will he turned. The girl’s eyes were wide, her face flushed. She no longer wore the cloth over her hair. “Don’t, oh please don’t, George.” George Three’s mind caught the tone of her voice. She had used his first name all by itself. “They're after me too,” she said, running to him. He reached above his head, his hands seeking the bare curtain rod. It gave way, pulling nails from the rotton moulding. He slid forward toward the empty air... He turned and twisted his body, grabbed for the window sill. The board was loose. It gave slowly with his increasing conmcloooks.cormn