I said, "Nuts."
It was time, I thought, for Dr. Wylie to reverse the field. We had been running with sympathy too long.
Tears filled his eyes. "I hate to make such a spectacle of myself!"
"How right you are!"
"Phil—I'm caving in! I can't think of another thing to do. My guts are full of ground glass. All I see—is Marcia—in my mind. I can't go on this way—"
"Want to quit—going on that way?"
"How can I?" It sounded as if he didn't want to quit.
I said, "Listen, Paul, if you care to go to the cleaner, the dentist and down a gantlet all at once—you can quit."
"What do you mean?"
"Want a look at the real score? Or do you prefer to carry the torch of your slap-happy illusions forever?"