"Larry never...!"
"Fred."
"I'm sick," Stan whimpered. "Honest to God, I'm sick!"
"You hate the city," Mr. Malcolm repeated coldly. "You hate your family."
"I think you're crazy," Stan said weakly. "I want a lawyer."
Mr. Malcolm turned back to his reports.
"Take him to the other cell, Fred."
Back to a cell, Stan thought weakly, following Tanner out. Where at least he could lie down....
But the other cell was too small to lie down in. It measured two feet square and there was no room to lie down. Or even sit down. The most he could do was lean.
He touched the wall with his hand and screamed with pain. The walls were wired for electricity, a thin strip of insulation separating them from the floor. He couldn't lie down, he thought. He didn't have room to sit down and he couldn't even lean against the walls. The only thing he could do was stand up ... and stand still.