"Why should I lie to you, doctor?"
For the second time Crendon smiled. "No reason, I suppose. But I thought you might be deceiving yourself by pretending you needed her when you didn't. You've been under something of a strain."
It was Langford's turn to smile. "You don't know the half of it."
"Oh, yes I do! She saw you crossing the skyport with scanner beams trained on you; she saw you playing hide and seek with annihilation. I had to give her a sedative injection to quiet her."
Langford did not move. Something in Crendon's face told him he was not expected to say anything.
"So that makes me an accessory!" Crendon said, the smile still on his lips. "Her vision went blank when I decided she'd seen enough for her own peace of mind."
He nodded. "I didn't know whether you managed to escape or not; it kept me on the tetherhooks until you showed up in my office twenty minutes ago. I've always liked you, Langford; I flatter myself I know an honest man when I see one."
His hand went out and tightened on Langford's palm. "Come on, now! We've got to remove those bandages before she reads my thoughts, and knows how scared I get when I operate. Mutants know what humbugs we all are, Langford; they can see all the flaws in us, and if they can still trust us and believe in us despite that, they must be the forerunners of a new humanity in more ways than we dream!"
If Joan Langford had eavesdropped, using her strange sight, she gave no sign when her husband returned to her side. The conversation in the corridor had taken him from her for the barest instant, but that instant had seemed like an eternity to Langford and the inner vision of his wife.
For how could 'time' be measured in minutes or hours by a woman wearing a blindfold, shut away in the dark, and waiting a verdict that could cause the future to slough away into chill gulfs? And how could 'time' have any meaning when the stars faded out of the sky and a sunset gun boomed farewell to the joys of the physical world? And to one who loved and hoped—could 'time' be measured by the moving hands of a clock?