"No!" she said with a half-scream.
"'No' what?" asked Lindsay.
"Grant mustn't!"
Lindsay looked at her. "Isn't that his job?" he said flatly.
"Yes, but—"
"Perhaps you can fix it," said her husband cynically. She looked at him in disbelief. Was this the man she loved?
Then he turned the knife in the wound. "Or," he said vindictively, "is that your job?"
"Lindsay, shut up, you fool!"
Lindsay opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Trouble with you, Lindsay, is that you've a rankle or two in your system which should have been burned out a long time ago. You poor fool, don't you know that every man reaches a crossroad every day? There's not one of us who mustn't give up something to get something else. That's why we have asylums—for people who can't make up their minds, or people who dislike their decisions and try to go back, mentally. The normal man accepts his decision and uses that as experience in making the next one, instead of sitting there, spending his life wondering what if he'd taken the other road. Add up your life, Lindsay, and see whether the credits are better than the debits. You can't have everything!"
Then the tone of his voice changed.