"I would've told them they were way off the beam, but I wanted to talk to you first, get it straight."
"Well, sir, it's true. I don't. I want to stay this way."
The man looked at Mary and then coughed, embarrassedly.
"What the hell—excuse me, kid, but—I don't exactly get it. You, uh, you saw the psychiatrist?"
"Yes sir. I'm not insane. Dr. Hortel can tell you."
"I didn't mean anything like that. Well—" the man laughed nervously. "I don't know what to say. You're still a cub, but you do swell work. Lot of good results, lots of comments from the stations. But, Mr. Poole won't like it."
"I know. I know what you mean, Mr. Willmes. But nothing can change my mind. I want to stay this way and that's all there is to it."
"But—you'll get old before you're half through life."
Yes, she would. Old, like the Elders, wrinkled and brittle, unable to move right. Old. "It's hard to make you understand. But I don't see why it should make any difference."
"Don't go getting me wrong, now. It's not me, but, you know, I don't own Interplan. I just work here. Mr. Poole likes things running smooth and it's my job to carry it out. And soon as everybody finds out, things wouldn't run smooth. There'll be a big stink. The dames will start asking questions and talk."