Farradyne shrugged. "Take her to a sanatorium," he said. "That'll keep her out of everybody's hair, especially mine."
Clevis scowled. "I hate to put her in a sanatorium."
"What else can you do?" asked Farradyne, spreading his hands.
"Not much; but I feel that I owe her more than that kind of handling. Those sanatoriums are little better than jails, you know."
"So I've heard. But what can you do for people cursed with a disease that nobody knows how to cure?"
"Segregate 'em," sighed Clevis. "Well, let's see what we can do about carting her out of the ship and into my car. About the ships—you'll be followed at extreme military radar range, Farradyne. I won't be there, but you'll have very hard-boiled company watching you."
They went below and found Norma. She was sleeping, relaxed as a kitten, with one leg drawn up to uncover the other shapely leg. Her hands were outstretched over her head, her breathing regular and normal. The hellflower still cast its heady perfume through the room, and Norma was smiling in her sleep, probably dreaming some completely normal woman-type dream.
Farradyne plucked the flower from her hair. "This I'll need," he said quietly. Clevis nodded.
Farradyne stooped down, but Clevis waved him away. "I'll carry her." The Sandman picked Norma up gently. She sleepily protested, but put her arms around Clevis' neck and let herself be carried from the salon.
Watching from the port, Farradyne saw them leave. They looked like a happy party-couple, leaving after too many cocktails, with the girl dozing on her man's shoulder.