Her hand patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Well, everything's going to be all right," she said. "I've brought Dr. Polk to see you. He wants to talk to you."
Marc's thoughts raced wildly as he boosted himself into a sitting position.
He glanced nervously at the chair across the room and the door behind which Toffee was dressing. The situation, he felt, was almost too atomic to be endured. It might explode at any minute if he didn't get Julie and the doctor out of there. He regarded the doctor with mistrust.
"I don't want to talk to him," he said peevishly. "I won't."
Undismayed, the doctor calmly sat down on the edge of the lounge. "You mustn't feel that way, Mr. Pillsworth," he said soothingly. "We're going to be great friends, you and I."
"Want to bet?" Marc scowled. He turned to Julie. "What kind of quack is this guy, anyway?"
"Dr. Polk is a ... a...."
"I'm a psychiatrist," the doctor broke in. "You're suffering from a nervous disorder, Mr. Pillsworth, and I'm here to help you."
Marc's eyes widened with astonishment. They thought he was nuts! What was he...! His mind leaped to other things as the hissing noise from George's chair suddenly increased in volume. They were bound to notice it in a moment.
"I'm all right, doctor," Marc said, his voice unnaturally loud. "I'm perfectly okay. So you see, I really don't need you! It was just a little joke. Hah, hah!" His laugh was false and a little hysterical. "So you can run along back to your nuts ... ah ... patients." He glanced nervously at the door to the photographer's room. Everything was ominously quiet. The hissing from George's chair had stopped.