She slept on her questions, and waked and slept repeatedly. And then, one day, she heard the voice again. And to her surprise, she found that she could answer back—slowly, uncertainly, at times painfully. But she could speak once more.
"We have been working on you," said the voice. "You are coming along nicely."
"Am I—am I—" she found difficulty asking: "How do I look?"
"Incomplete."
"I must be horrible."
A slight pause. "No. Not horrible at all. Not to me. Merely incomplete."
"My husband wouldn't think so."
"I do not know what your husband would think. Perhaps he is not used to seeing incomplete persons. He might even be horrified at the sight of himself."
"I—I hadn't thought of that. But he—we'll both be all right?"
"As a medical problem, you offer no insuperable difficulty. None at all."