Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 46 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

SAVIOUR and didn’t stop until the rest of us pulled him off because someone saw one of the in- structors coming. Tough, all right, but he never wanted to hit anyone because of it. Quiet and peaceful and good fun. He’d got on well with Harry. Better than he had with anyone, really, ever since. Harry seemed to think about the same sort of things—and at the same time. Yes, that was right. Think of things at the same time. It had been almost a kind of joke with them in the end, the way they'd both think of the same thing together. A _ private secret joke that they’d never let anyone else in on. Secret Service stuff. But how had they done it? If it had happened just once or twice it could have been coincidence, but it had happened many more times than that. Too many times for the word coincidence to apply. Far too many times. But when had it happened first ? He closed his eyes to think the more clearly. Under or- dinary circumstances, he thought wryly, if he’d tried to remember something that had happened when he was nine years old or so he’d give it up as a bad job without even 23 trying. But this was different. Somehow he felt that he had to remember. And he did remember. The picture formed in his mind. At first it was hazy and wavering, and in black and white and grey only. Then the fuzziness cleared as he con- centrated- still harder, and colours deftly took the place of the dull monotones. It was not until the picture was very clear and well-defined in his thoughts that he _ realised abruptly that it had not been thoughts that Harry and he had shared on that certain occasion, but far more than thoughts. And he realised, too, that that particular oc- casion had not really been the first time at all, but simply the first time he himself had been consciously aware of what had happened... Nine years old Patrick Vane ran into the chalet through the kitchen door and threw his — satchel into its customary corner. He was slightly more untidy and more scruffy than usual and his mother, busy setting the tea table, was swift to notice it. **Patrick.”” a “Yes, Mum?” He struggled with his face in an attempt to force it into an expression of conmmcloooks.conn