[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
patient to discharge him -- promptly."
"Oh, no -- I didn't promise I'd discharge him."
"Well, the patient certainly understood he'd be home in short order -- and the
only qualifications are Chaplain Hardwicke's schedule and confirmation of the
mother's letter."
"Call the patient back and well settle this with him right now." Whelye said.
He looked
angry.
Mrs. Norman sighed, went to the Common Room door, signaled an attendant. Peter
was brought back and returned to his chair. The boy kept his eyes down,
shoulders bent, unmoving.
"You understand, don't you, Peter," Whelye asked, "that we haven't made any
definite promise to discharge you? We're going to look into your home
situation and see if everything is all right and if you can get a job. We'd
also like to look into the possibility of you returning to school for a year
or so. Perhaps you could get a better job. You understand, don't you, that we
aren't making any definite commitment?"
"Yeah, I understand." Peter looked at Chaplain Hardwicke who refused to meet
the boy's gaze.
"What's this about school?" Thurlow asked.
"The boy hasn't finished high school," Whelye said. He faced Peter. "Wouldn't
you like to go back and finish high school?"
"Yeah."
"Do you like to go to school?" Whelye asked.
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Yeah."
"Wouldn't you like to finish your education and get a job where you could pay
your own way and save money and get married?"
"Yeah."
Whelye glanced triumphantly at Thurlow. "Anybody got any questions?"
Thurlow had slowly been building up in his mind the analogy of a stud poker
game. Peter was in the position of a player who didn't believe anything
happening here, nor did he disbelieve anything. He was waiting to see the rest
of the cards.
"Isn't it true, Peter," Thurlow asked, "that you'd rather be hungry than on a
full stomach?"
"Yeah." The boy had turned his attention to Whelye now.
"Isn't it true, Peter," Thurlow asked, "that you'd rather eat a dry crust of
bread than have a nice juicy piece of meat on your dinner plate?"
"Yeah."
"That's all," Thurlow said.
At Mrs. Norman's signal, the attendant took Peter once more from the room.
"I think when we get to the next patient," Thurlow said, "we should swear him
in like they do in court."
Whelye remained silent for a moment. He shuffled his papers, then: "I don't
see what you're driving at."
"You reminded me of a district attorney of my acquaintance," Thurlow said.
"Oh?" Whelye's eyes glazed with anger.
"By the way," Thurlow said, "do you believe in flying saucers?"
The heads of both Mrs. Norman and Chaplain Hardwicke snapped up. They stared
at
Thurlow. Whelye, however, drew back, his eyes veiled, watchful.
"What is the meaning of that question?" Whelye demanded.
"I'd like to know your position," Thurlow said.
"
On flying saucers?" There was a cautious disbelief in Whelye's tone.
"Yes."
"They're delusional material," Whelye said. "Utter nonsense.
Oh, there could be a few cases of mistaken identity, weather balloons and that
sort of thing, but the people who insist they've seen spaceships, these people
are in need of our services."
"A sound opinion," Thurlow said. "I'm glad to hear it"
Whelye nodded. "I don't care what you think of my methods," he said, "but
you're not going to find my opinions based on delusional material -- of any
type. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear," Thurlow said. He saw that Whelye was convinced the question had
carried a subtle intent to discredit
Whelye got to his feet, glanced at his watch. "I fail to see the point in all
this, but doubtless you had some idea in mind." He left the room.
Mrs. Norman took a deep breath, bent a look of sympathy on Thurlow. "You like
to play with fire, evidently," she said.
Thurlow stood up, smiled.
Hardwicke, catching Thurlow's eyes, said: "The defense rests."
As the scene passed through his mind, Thurlow shook his head. Again, he
glanced at his wristwatch, smiled at himself as the unconscious gesture
displayed the stopped hands. The air coming in the car window smelled of wet
leaves.
Why did Ruth ask me to meet her here? She's another man's wife now. Where is
she -- so damned late! Could something have happened to her?
He looked at his pipe.
Damn pipe's gone out. Always going out. I smoke matches, not tobacco. Hate to
burn myself with this woman again. Poor Ruth -- tragedy, tragedy. She was very
Page 25
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
close to her mother.
He tried to remember the murdered woman. Adele Murphey was photographs and
descriptions in stories now, a reflection from the words of witnesses and
police. The Adele
Murphey he'd known refused to come out from behind the brutal new images. Her
features were beginning to grow dim in the leaf whirl of things that fade. His
mind held only the police pictures now -- color photos in the file at the
sheriff's office -- the red hair (so much like the daughter's) fanned out on
an oil-stained driveway.
Her bloodless skin in the photo -- he remembered that.
And he remembered the words of the witness, Sarah French, the doctor's wife [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
patient to discharge him -- promptly."
"Oh, no -- I didn't promise I'd discharge him."
"Well, the patient certainly understood he'd be home in short order -- and the
only qualifications are Chaplain Hardwicke's schedule and confirmation of the
mother's letter."
"Call the patient back and well settle this with him right now." Whelye said.
He looked
angry.
Mrs. Norman sighed, went to the Common Room door, signaled an attendant. Peter
was brought back and returned to his chair. The boy kept his eyes down,
shoulders bent, unmoving.
"You understand, don't you, Peter," Whelye asked, "that we haven't made any
definite promise to discharge you? We're going to look into your home
situation and see if everything is all right and if you can get a job. We'd
also like to look into the possibility of you returning to school for a year
or so. Perhaps you could get a better job. You understand, don't you, that we
aren't making any definite commitment?"
"Yeah, I understand." Peter looked at Chaplain Hardwicke who refused to meet
the boy's gaze.
"What's this about school?" Thurlow asked.
"The boy hasn't finished high school," Whelye said. He faced Peter. "Wouldn't
you like to go back and finish high school?"
"Yeah."
"Do you like to go to school?" Whelye asked.
Page 24
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Yeah."
"Wouldn't you like to finish your education and get a job where you could pay
your own way and save money and get married?"
"Yeah."
Whelye glanced triumphantly at Thurlow. "Anybody got any questions?"
Thurlow had slowly been building up in his mind the analogy of a stud poker
game. Peter was in the position of a player who didn't believe anything
happening here, nor did he disbelieve anything. He was waiting to see the rest
of the cards.
"Isn't it true, Peter," Thurlow asked, "that you'd rather be hungry than on a
full stomach?"
"Yeah." The boy had turned his attention to Whelye now.
"Isn't it true, Peter," Thurlow asked, "that you'd rather eat a dry crust of
bread than have a nice juicy piece of meat on your dinner plate?"
"Yeah."
"That's all," Thurlow said.
At Mrs. Norman's signal, the attendant took Peter once more from the room.
"I think when we get to the next patient," Thurlow said, "we should swear him
in like they do in court."
Whelye remained silent for a moment. He shuffled his papers, then: "I don't
see what you're driving at."
"You reminded me of a district attorney of my acquaintance," Thurlow said.
"Oh?" Whelye's eyes glazed with anger.
"By the way," Thurlow said, "do you believe in flying saucers?"
The heads of both Mrs. Norman and Chaplain Hardwicke snapped up. They stared
at
Thurlow. Whelye, however, drew back, his eyes veiled, watchful.
"What is the meaning of that question?" Whelye demanded.
"I'd like to know your position," Thurlow said.
"
On flying saucers?" There was a cautious disbelief in Whelye's tone.
"Yes."
"They're delusional material," Whelye said. "Utter nonsense.
Oh, there could be a few cases of mistaken identity, weather balloons and that
sort of thing, but the people who insist they've seen spaceships, these people
are in need of our services."
"A sound opinion," Thurlow said. "I'm glad to hear it"
Whelye nodded. "I don't care what you think of my methods," he said, "but
you're not going to find my opinions based on delusional material -- of any
type. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear," Thurlow said. He saw that Whelye was convinced the question had
carried a subtle intent to discredit
Whelye got to his feet, glanced at his watch. "I fail to see the point in all
this, but doubtless you had some idea in mind." He left the room.
Mrs. Norman took a deep breath, bent a look of sympathy on Thurlow. "You like
to play with fire, evidently," she said.
Thurlow stood up, smiled.
Hardwicke, catching Thurlow's eyes, said: "The defense rests."
As the scene passed through his mind, Thurlow shook his head. Again, he
glanced at his wristwatch, smiled at himself as the unconscious gesture
displayed the stopped hands. The air coming in the car window smelled of wet
leaves.
Why did Ruth ask me to meet her here? She's another man's wife now. Where is
she -- so damned late! Could something have happened to her?
He looked at his pipe.
Damn pipe's gone out. Always going out. I smoke matches, not tobacco. Hate to
burn myself with this woman again. Poor Ruth -- tragedy, tragedy. She was very
Page 25
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
close to her mother.
He tried to remember the murdered woman. Adele Murphey was photographs and
descriptions in stories now, a reflection from the words of witnesses and
police. The Adele
Murphey he'd known refused to come out from behind the brutal new images. Her
features were beginning to grow dim in the leaf whirl of things that fade. His
mind held only the police pictures now -- color photos in the file at the
sheriff's office -- the red hair (so much like the daughter's) fanned out on
an oil-stained driveway.
Her bloodless skin in the photo -- he remembered that.
And he remembered the words of the witness, Sarah French, the doctor's wife [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]