"Honey, there isn't much we can do," said Dr. Brooks.
"You're right." She glanced down and plucked at the bathrobe around her smooth lace-bordered throat. "Can't save the world in my old nightgown."
He took her by the shoulders and bent his head toward the palpitating muscle in her throat.
Leaning back against the edge of the bed, she held him at arm's length. She wet her lips and said, "Did I tell you I'm supposed to wear glasses?"
He sprawled forward into her embrace. Her dark mane tumbled thickly over Mr. Barger. They twisted and pulled each other down to the floor, freeing loose strands of hair from the blanket's electricity.
She opened her eyes and saw a flat briefcase with a coil antenna sticking out.
"What's the matter?" whispered Dr. Brooks.
"On the bottom of the bed!"
He pressed his cheek to the floor and examined the under-carriage of Mr. Barger's motorbed.