[Ghastly smile, horrific remembrance, flood of emotions rapidly flickering across face] No. They never had.

Then why did you think this time would be any different? Why did you think they weren’t going to take you out and torture you? Were you friendly with any of the guards?

No. Certainly not. They were all former editors. That was one of the requirements.

I’m well aware of the requirements. This court is not questioning the integrity of the guards.

It should! If you call yourselves lawmakers! This hearing is a farce! Howard Varrick was a humorist! If he’d been published he’d have been one of the greatest writers of this century! He was on his way! He was making some real progress until he was tortured! I read his drafts! I laughed!

[General confusion, buzzing from peanut gallery, rapping of gavel, uneasy order quickly restored. Small gaping faces at door swiftly pushed outside] Thank you. [Turning, pausing, acknowledging appreciation to judge] If we can proceed. … Tell us about that afternoon. Tell us what happened after you and Mr. Varrick discussed your problems.

We had to turn our papers in. That came first. Dr. Evans was the personal guard and senior editor.

Did Dr. Evans review your revisions in the exercise yard?

Yes. He did. But that was common practice. We had to get the initial okay from him before we could go to beer call.

And how long did that usually take?

[Ruminating, chin in hand] Not long, usually. He’d just give it a quick glance. He wouldn’t read all the way through.

How long would you say? Ten minutes? Five? Probably about five. Maybe a little less.

And how many words of copy are we talking about here?

Well. It varied.

How much?

It depended. On what we were revising.

How many words would you say, on the day in question?

Between us?

Yes, Between you.

Oh. Probably. About six thousand. Somewhere around that.

He was a fast reader, wasn’t he?

Fairly quick, I suppose. I’m sure he’d had a lot of practice.

But you didn’t go to beer call that day. Did you?

No. We didn’t.

What did it, Mr. Lawrence?

I don’t understand.

Whose work was it that caused Dr. Evans to cancel your beer break and send you in for involuntary sex instead?

[Mad panic now, sudden, furious, eyes searching the court, hands gripping chair arms wildly] What?

I said whose work was it?

I don’t have to answer that question! Answer it.

No.

Answer it!

Damn you! Damn you and your court. I’m not saying anything else. I want to see my lawyer.

Well, there he is. Sitting right there at that table.

[Unable to decide. Fear. Horror. Mouth chewing knuckle] I …