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. Then she was going to carry it. Then
she let Bill carry it; she was busy otherwise-me.
You see, I can't wear a pressure suit that has not been especially made for
me... while wearing my artificial foot. So I had to remove it. So I had to hop.
That's okay; I'm used to hopping, and at one-sixth gee hopping is no problem.
But Gwen had to mother me.
So here we go-Bill leading off with Tree-San, under instructions from Gwen
to get inside fast and get some water from Mr. Henderson to spray on it, then
Gwen and I followed as Siamese twins. She earned her small case with her left
hand and put her right arm around my waist. I had my artificial foot slung over
my shoulder, and I used my cane and hopped and steadied myself with my left arm
around her shoulders. How could I tell her that I would have been steadier
without her help? I kept my big mouth shut and let her help me.
Mr. Henderson let us into the cab, then gasketed it tight and opened an air
bottle lavishly-he had been running in vacuum, wearing a suit. I appreciated his
lavish expenditure of air mix- oxygen wrested painfully from Lunar rock,
nitrogen all the way from Earth-until I saw it next day on my bill at a fat
price.
Henderson stayed and helped Maggie wrestle old B. J. 17 onto her
transporter, running her crane for her while she handled her tread controls,
then he drove us to Dry Bones Pressure
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