"I was just telling you. I said that with a man killed in my room I had a right to some protection. I—"
"Protection! What did you do? Ask the man to hide you? Why didn't you get down on your knees and beg his pardon for living?"
Frustrated anger made Corson's lips tremble. "I did the best I could! I told him that if I couldn't find out from him what was going on, I'd go to the New York police. I told him I had a right to know about these androids."
"And he told you the only right you had was to drop dead, I suppose."
Frank Corson got to his feet. His face was stiff. His eyes were tortured. He ran a helpless hand along his jaw.
"All right, Rhoda. All right. If this is the way you want it, there's nothing I can do."
"What do you mean—the way I want it? All I've been trying to do is put a little courage into you? Didn't Taber tell you a thing about the androids?"
"He wasn't as brutal as I made it sound. In fact, he's a rather nice guy in a tough spot."
"I'm sure of that, but we couldn't care less. What did he say about the androids?"
A new, desperate wariness had been born in Frank Corson. He could take only so much and now he regarded Rhoda with a hostility of his own. "A short time ago you hooted the android idea. What changed you?"