"No, Mr. Newman, you mustn't think that way. Human beings can get accustomed to whatever's necessary."
"Necessary? Not in my books!"
"Some day you may feel differently. I was born into a Suspended family and we've managed. Being on the outside has its compensations."
"Such as?"
"We-l-l—," she faltered, "I really don't know exactly. But you must have faith it will be so." She pulled out a card from a pocket of her sheath dress. "Maybe you'll want to use this some day."
He glanced at the card which said, John Newbridge, Doctor at Mind, 96th Level, Harker Building, Appointments by Writing Only. There was no thought-line coding.
"I have no doubt," he muttered. But she was starting to look hurt so he carefully slid the card into his wallet.
"He's very helpful," she said. "I mean, helpful for people who have adjustment problems."
"You're a good girl," he said huskily. "Maybe we'll meet someday again. I'll have my wife call—write to you so you can visit us before we have to come into the city."
"That," she smiled happily, "would be so wonderful, Mr. Newman. I've never been in a home like that." Then, choking with emotion, she turned and hurried away.