"I could always give it a try," Mr. Sims had protested.
Dr. Van Stoke had frowned bleakly over the tops of his glasses. "I know I'm a friend and family doctor," the frown had said, "but I'm also District Referee under the Euthanasian Legislation and you are becoming a burden to society. So don't make my job any more difficult."
He had signed his name at the bottom of the form.
And Mr. Sims had had a hollow, anxious feeling ever since.
"There's one thing I haven't found out yet," he said to Mr. Hoode. "Is it in order for me to ask how and when I can expect to die?"
"Certainly," Mr. Hoode said. "It's the reason I brought you here to talk. You see, anyone sent here under the Legislation is given a completely free choice as to the manner of his departure. Most people, although they realize this, show a distressing lack of imagination when the time comes. They seem unable to think beyond the ordinary methods of taking a pill, or a needle, or a poisoned cocktail."
"I can't say I'd thought about it, either," Mr. Sims admitted.
"We have a service to assist you," said the director. "We of the Sunnylands staff have discovered what you might call a Philosophy of Dying. For instance, if a man lives an active life, there's no reason why he should be subjected to a sneaking prick of a needle in his sleep just because he reaches the age of sixty-five. We discovered that a few people objected strongly to such methods. There are some people who would prefer to die fighting. We had a couple who chose the firing squad, for instance. Another desired the guillotine and nothing would satisfy him but a ride to his fate in a real tumbril. Because of these—ah—pioneers, our advisory bureau has been set up."
