 The Great Switcheroo. Read by Shane Rimmer. There were about forty people at Jerry and Samantha's cocktail party that evening. It was the usual crowd, the usual discomfort, the usual appalling noise. People had to stand very close to one another and shout to make themselves heard. Many were grinning, showing capped white teeth. Most of them had a cigarette in the left hand, a drink in the right. I moved away from my wife Mary and her group. I headed for the small bar in the far corner, and when I got there I sat down at a bar stool and faced the room. I did this so that I could look at the women. I settled back with my shoulders against the bar rail, sipping my scotch, and examining the women one by one over the rim of my glass. I was studying not their figures, but their faces. And what interested me there was not so much the face itself, but the big red mouth in the middle of it all. And even then it wasn't the whole mouth, but only the lower lip. The lower lip I had recently decided was the Great Revealer. It gave away more than the eyes. The eyes hid their secrets. The lower lip hid very little. Take, for example, the lower lip of Descent Winkleman, who was standing nearest to me. Notice the wrinkles on that lip, how some were parallel and some radiated outward. No two people had the same pattern of lip wrinkles. And come to think of it, you could catch a criminal that way if you had his lip print on file, and you'd taken a drink at the scene of the crime. The lower lip is what you suck and nibble when you're ruffled. And Martha Sullivan was doing that right now as she watched from a distance her fatuous husband slobbering over Judy Martinson. You look at when lecherous. I could see Jenny Lomax licking hers with the tip of her tongue, as she stood beside Ted Dorling and gazed up into his face. It was a deliberate look, the tongue coming out slowly and making a slow wet wipe along the entire length of the lower lip. I saw Ted Dorling looking at Jenny's tongue, which was what she wanted him to do. It really does seem to be a fact, I told myself, as my eyes wandered from lower lip to lower lip across the room, at all the less attractive traits of the human animal, arrogance, rapacity, gluttony, lasciviousness, and the rest of them, are clearly signaled in that little carapace of scarlet skin.