"And mine's bad?"
He shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "I'm afraid so."
But the steam had been released and the period of mourning had ended, so "I'll improve," I told him.
"You're wasting your time."
"Possibly. What I can't understand, though, is why a big name in science-fiction comes way the devil out here just to advise me to stop knocking my head against a wall."
"Perhaps more than your head is at stake," he said.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said hastily. For a moment his pale face held a haunted look, and he rose, looking like a man unsure of himself. "I can't talk you out of it, so I'd better go."
"Wait a minute. Just what did you mean by that other remark?"
Donald MacDonald glanced around him as though he were afraid invisible beings might be eavesdropping. "You really want to know the reason why?"