"But why not?" asked Ann Browning. "After all— we know who stabbed him, don't we?"
For the first time they felt the full shock.
Vicky Fane was standing quietly a few feet away from the man she had killed. Her hands hung down at her sides. She was not looking at him, or at anything else. The sight of that witless creature, with intellect removed and eyes as dead as blue china, where formerly there had been a vital, laughing, attractive girl, was almost too much for Frank Sharpless. The grimy marks of tears still streaked her cheeks, though she showed no emotion now.
"Dr. Rich," said Sharpless, "the celebrated Dr. Frankenstein had nothing on you."
Rich put his hands to his forehead.
"Don't wake her up!" snapped Sharpless, misinterpreting the gesture. "For God's sake don't wake her up!"
"I wasn't going to wake her up, young man."
"Can she hear us?"
"No."
"But even if you don't wake her up" — Sharpless swallowed hard—"can't you do something?"