"Like hell! You did that on purpose!"
"Trade secrets. Now, over on your side."
In half an hour Kintyre was sitting on the couch, drawing ragged gulps of smoke down his lungs. "All right," he said. "So you relaxed me physically."
"Helps, doesn't it?" Yamamura leaned against the wall and mopped his sweating face.
"Some. But no cure." Kintyre looked bleakly toward the afternoon and the night.
"Didn't claim it was. Got any tranquilizers on hand?"
"Uh-huh. Only helps a little bit. I might as well ride these things out."
"Same symptoms?"
"Yes. Futility. Loss. Destruction. Grief? No, that's too healthy a word. I'm only talking to you with the top of my brain now, you realize. It feels the same as ever, down below."
"Basically, you feel guilt," said Yamamura.