The woman shook her head.
"If I'm to be kept alive," he said petulantly, "why not comfortably?"
"Nothing solid. That's the doctor's orders."
"Blizzard's?"
"No. The doctor."
"What doctor?"
"Why, Dr. Ferris."
"Where is he? I want to speak to him."
"He isn't here. He's coming when everything's ready."
"Everything ready?" A nameless fear began to gnaw at Wilmot's vitals. And at that moment the door swung open, and he saw, beyond the bulking head and shoulders of the legless man, a narrow iron table, white and shining, in a room all glass and white paint.