Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 53 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

CONSPIRACY “T don’t ride buses.” She said, impatiently: “Come on. You’re not going to be noticed any more in a bus than on a sidewalk. I only got five minutes to get back.” “You get the bus,”’ he said. “See you tonight when you finish ?”’ She stared at him. “You really won’t come with me?” “Tl explain some time.” He gave her a friendly push. “Don’t be hurt.” She was surprised to find, as she dashed for the bus, that she wasn’t hurt, either. It was about a week later that she first admitted to her- self that she was in love with John. She was an honest girl, and she admitted at the same time that the fact that he was the first presentable man who had taken a serious interest in her had a lot to do with it. But the reasons were unim- portant compared with the pleasure of being in love with him. She tried for a time to pretend that he loved her, too; he was most attentive to 31 her, and she knew she helped to make him less melancholy —eased his incessant loneli- ness as well as safeguarding him against the fears that beset him. But she couldn’t fool herself it was any more than that. She went to see a consulting psychiatrist about the fears, clutching the ten dollar bill in her hand and handing it over, sticky and crumpled, to the psychiatrist’s receprionist. His name was Mo-enberg. He was a short, dark, tubby man, with a look of smiling to himself all the time. He looked at the name on the slip. ““Miss Steyrette. Tell me now, what’s troubling you? Just drop it all in my lap.” He smiled to himself again. ““You’ve paid me ten dollars and you might as well get your money’s worth. Don’t worry about shocking me; on the other hand, you needn’t feel you have to shock me. Just let me have it straight.” “It’s not about myself. A friend.” He smiled, as at an old comicloooks.com