"Now, now, Miss Thompson," Miss Wilson said, walking across the room to put an arm around the little old lady's shoulder. Malone wished for one brief second that he were the little old lady. Maybe if he were a patient in the hospital he would get the same treatment.
He wondered if he could possibly work such a deal.
Then he wondered if it would be worthwhile, being nuts. But of course it would. He was nuts anyhow, wasn't he?
Sure, he told himself. They were all nuts.
"Nobody's going to hurt you," Miss Wilson said. She was talking to the old lady. "You'll be perfectly all right and you don't have to worry about a thing."
"Oh, yes, dear, I know that," the little old lady said. "You only want to help me, dear. You're so kind. And these FBI men really don't mean any harm. But Doctor Harman didn't know that. He just thinks I'm crazy and that's all."
"Please, Miss Thompson—" Dr. Harman began.
"Just crazy, that's all," the little old lady said. She turned away for a second and nobody said anything.
Then she turned back. "Do you all know what he's thinking now?" she said. Dr. Harman turned a dull purple, but she ignored him. "He's wondering why I didn't take the trouble to prove all this to you years ago. And besides that, he's thinking about—"
"Miss Thompson," Dr. Harman said. His bedside manner had cracked through and his voice was harsh and strained. "Please."