"Then—"
"When they hit rock bottom, they bounced up. If I hadn't found you, I would have been secure for the rest of my lonely, miserable life."
"All that's ended now," the doctor assured him. "Now we must go dig up the corpse. The female corpse, eh?"
Resurrection Day!
"Doctor," Linton whispered, "my mind is singing with battalions of choirs. I hope that doesn't sound irreverent to you."
The doctor stroked his oily palms together. "Oh, but it does. Beautifully."
The certificate to allow reburial in Virginia hadn't been impossible to obtain. The doctor had taken the body and Linton's fortune and fed them both into the maw of his calculators, and by means of the secret, smuggled formulae, Greta would be cybernetically reborn.
Linton shook his head. It seemed impossible. But Greta opened the olive-drab slab of metal of the door to the doctor's inner-inner sanctum and walked out into the medicinal cold fluorescent lighting.
It wasn't fair at all, Linton thought. He should have had some time to prepare himself.