"But you're wrong!"
"It could be. The thing is possible." He leaned toward the psychosurgeon. "You think about it and tell me. It's possible?"
Vortler looked defeated.
"Yes."
"And that's that."
Angus started for the barway. "I don't know what started this thing off, John. Perhaps if a man loves his wife a little too much, a thing like this can happen. Maybe that's why they've watched our charts so carefully."
Hastings was already talking to himself. "If I can just prove it one way or the other. If I can just know she's—alone."
The white clad figure paused. "Think it over, John. Change your mind. I don't like any part of it."
"Angus," John said softly. "I don't like it either. I don't want the sight of Mary on that lens! To leave what print? A dream smashed? A dishonor? Who knows?"
The doctor shook his head. "Look out the viewplate, John. What do you see? Planet systems, galaxies, eons. What is one tiny less-than-a-mite in all of that? What does it mean to you? The mind of the Almighty—or a few cents worth of bone, and hair, and tissue? Ask yourself, John. What do you see?"