I heard Sally coming up behind me and I put out my hand. She slid right into it and the feel of the hard,
glossy enamel of her fender was warm in my palm.
"A nice automatobile," said Gellhorn.
That's one way of putting it. Sally was a 2045 convertible with a Hennis‐Carleton positronic motor and
an Armat chassis. She had the cleanest, finest lines I've ever seen on any model, bar none. For five
years, she'd been my favorite, and I'd put everything into her I could dream up. In all that time, there'd
never been a human being behind her wheel.
Not once.
"Sally," I said, patting her gently, "meet Mr. Gellhorn."
Sally's cylinder‐purr keyed up a little. I listened carefully for any knocking. Lately, I'd been hearing
motor‐knock in almost all the cars and changing the gasoline hadn't done a bit of good. Sally was as
smooth as her paint job this time, however.