 What does Roger respect about the captors?
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] If it only had a lease that could be broken— Roger Tennant, crossing the lawn, could see two of the three wings of the house, which radiated spoke-like from its heptagonal central portion. That on the right was sundeck solar-house living-machine modern, something like a montage of shoeboxes. He had thought them up in a moment of utter boredom and they were extremely comfortable. Their captors had no idea of how a woven design should behave. "I don't even want to think about him," said Tennant. He could sense the restless stirring of the woman within Dana, just as he could feel the stirring toward her within himself—desire that both of them loathed because it was implanted within them by their captors. Within the dome of the barrier, it looked more like a well-kept if bizarre little country estate. The brook was practically water, but the small stones over which it flowed were of no earthly mineral. They entered the house, which had no roof, continued to move beneath a sky that glowed with light which did not come from a sun or moon. Eudalia, who had borne twin girls recently, was lying back, newly thin and dark of skin and hair, smoking a scentless cigarette. Tennant wondered how she maintained it in place, for despite her recent double motherhood, she was almost flat of bosom. Eudalia had been a female foreman in a garment-cutting shop before being captured and brought through. He turned to Olga, broad, blonde and curiously vital, who sat perfectly still, regarding him over the pregnant swell of her dirndl-clad waist. Olga had been a waitress in a mining town hash-house near Scranton. Tennant wanted to put an encouraging hand on her shoulder, to say something that might cheer her up, for she was by far the youngest of the three female captives, barely nineteen. But with the eyes of the other two, especially Dana, upon him, he could not. "But he doesn't have to—have them," objected Olga. In fact, Tennant thought, only her laughter was unpleasant, a shrill, uncontrolled burst of staccato sound that jarred him to his heels. It arrived before the meal, materializing against one of the seven walls of the roofless chamber. Tennant watched the girls as a sweet-voiced crooner began to ply an unfamiliar love lyric to a melody whose similarity to a thousand predecessors doomed it to instant success.
 They are bold enough to hunt humans in their own habitat
 They are adept at concealing themselves on Earth  They represent the pinnacle of human evolution  They have treated the captives with compassion  They are bold enough to hunt humans in their own habitat