“I knew it, I knew it would happen someday,” Josephine Blithe cried. Then, in a rush, “If you knew the strain I’ve been under. It’s a wonder I’m in my right mind! I knew this thing would get out sometime, that John would heal the wrong person—somebody who would talk to the authorities, or something. Actually, I guess I’m relieved. At least I can share this incredible burden with someone else.” She paced the floor.

George was completely astonished. His face had a rosy, sweaty, quizzical grin. “Share what? What burden? Are you telling us that Window does heal? I mean, he really does this?” Now George was scandalized by the turn of events. How could an accredited psychologist say such a thing? “I thought surely you’d convince me that suggestion was somehow responsible,” he said, almost shouting. “I couldn’t see how on earth it could be, but I thought a psychologist would—” He stopped in mid-sentence, ashamed of himself.

Josephine Blithe moved, standing right in front of him, and said in a hard resentful voice; “You’re not going to get out of this now, even if you want to, because I’m going to tell you more than you want to know.”

Silence.

Dr. Josephine Blithe stood in the center of her office, staring at George Brainbridge. Her stance was alive with challenge. In the sudden quiet, bees buzzed loudly in the shrubs outside the open window, through which George saw patients and visitors walking the shaded paths. Oversoul Seven coughed.

George said, “I have the damnedest feeling that I should just get out of here while the going’s good.” He paused, glanced quizzically at Seven, and wiped his sweating face with a Kleenex. “What do you think, pal?” he asked.

“Why not see it through?” Seven answered, but he was uneasy on George’s behalf. Besides that, he felt intriguing comprehensions skirt around the corners of his mind, but he couldn’t seem to catch them.

“Well? Make up your mind,” Josephine said. Her hands were on her hips, and her dark eyes were wide with either anticipation or anger, George couldn’t tell which.

“Okay,” he said, grinning. “I’ll probably regret it, but what the hell.”

With that, Dr. Blithe sat down and almost seemed to go into a reverie.

“I really don’t know where to start, don’t you know,” she said in a soft, distant voice. “So I’ll tell you about my first meeting with John Window, and fill in the details later.” She raised her dark brows with a jerky, nervous motion, paused, and went on quickly as if afraid that she’d never tell the whole story unless she did it now.