"Now," said Theodi, "we'll proceed to Dorana and do likewise."
Sandra was silent all the way to the next village, and as she started down the line of people, picking them out one by one, her face began to whiten.
Halfway through, Sandra stopped.
"Go on," urged Theodi.
"Go on?" screamed Sandra. "Go on? No!"
"But—"
"Go on and on and on and on and on?" shrieked Sandra in a crescendo that ended in a toneless, inarticulate screech. She stopped the sentence only because her voice had no more range and she had no more breath. "Theodi, I feel like a murderess! I go on selecting people as I would select specimens to be speared with a mounting pin and stuck on a cardboard. I point them out. They follow dumbly with a look of resignation. They come and you try something new on them—every time it is something new, and you don't know whether it'll kill 'em or not! I can't stand it."
"But who can we have to do this?"
"Get one of your own to do your own dirty work! You need me! Bah! Suppose—?"
"Suppose we have the right combination?"