"That is certainly peculiar. I haven't seen a book for years. Not since '17."
Mary began to fidget and stare nervously about.
"But with the tapes, why should you try and read books—where did you get them?"
"Daddy did. He got them from his father and so did Grandpa. He said they're better than the tapes and he was right."
Mrs. Cuberle flushed.
"My husband was a little strange, Doctor Hortel. He kept those things despite everything I said.
"Dear me, I—excuse me."
The muscular, black-haired doctor walked to another cabinet and selected from the shelf a bottle. From the bottle he took two large pills and swallowed them.
"Sleep—books—doesn't want the Transformation—Mrs. Cuberle, my dear good woman, this is grave. Doesn't want the Transformation. I would appreciate it if you would change psychiatrists: I am very busy and, uh, this is somewhat specialized. I suggest Centraldome. Many fine doctors there. Goodbye."
The doctor turned and sat down in a large chair and folded his hands. Mary watched him and wondered why the simple statements should have so changed things. But the doctor did not move from the chair.