"You didn't tell me that."
"I'm telling you now."
King scowled. "I don't get it. You were the doctor. You left a man with a broken leg in bed in a hospital. You saw a man who looked like—"
"I saw the same man, goddamn it!"
"All right—the same man. And you didn't do anything about it? You didn't say Good morning or It might rain or What the hell are you doing out of bed? You just let him walk away?"
"You're being unreasonable. When you come face to face with something that's impossible, you don't treat it as a fact. It throws you off balance."
King continued to scowl. "We're not getting anywhere. Let's face it. It was impossible. Let's get the hell up to your room and talk to William Matson."
"All right."
Frank Corson came half out of his chair, then he dropped back again. "I don't like this," he said.
"What's to like? What's to dislike? For ten thousand dollars we can ignore both."