"Yeah," said Harry. "An awful long time."
"Yeah. Maybe too long. It's no kind of a life for a man with any kind of sensitivity, you know. It's liable to take a bad effect on a guy after a while."
"I know what you mean," Harry said thoughtfully. "You get around too much, see too many screwy things. It might begin to give you a sort of distorted view like."
"Sure. It could even get so bad you could get kind of unbalanced. Maybe it would start with you seein' things that aren't real."
"Uh-huh," Harry nodded. "Maybe like guys floatin' around in the air without they've got their heads on. Or something like that. Not that I've ever seen no such thing, mind you."
"Of course not. Who would see a crazy thing like that unless it was somebody goin' bugs or somethin'?" The photographer laughed falsely. "It's funny to think a thing like that could happen to a guy."
"Yeah," Harry said. "It's a real laugh. What say we get the hell out of here?"
"You bet! Let's run like the devil!"
Together, the men dropped their cameras to the floor, turned, and ran as fast as they could out of the court room.
Meanwhile, a new groan of horrified amazement had gone through the room. George, in an effort to demonstrate to his audience the very last measure of his paralyzing talent, had introduced a new and even more arresting wrinkle to his performance. Alternately dematerializing and rematerializing in rapid succession, he was blinking on and off like a neon sign.