A thing like that, he told himself glumly, could drive you buggy in short order—and then where were you?
In a loony bin, that's where you were.
Or, possibly, in Yucca Flats. Malone pictured the scene: there they would be, just one big happy family. Kenneth J. Malone, and a convention of bats straight out of the nation's foremost loony bins.
Fun!
Malone began to wonder why he had gone into FBI work in the first place.
"Listen, Chief," he said. "I—"
"Sure, I understand," Burris said quickly. "She's batty. And this new one is batty, too. But what else can we do? Malone, don't do anything you'll regret."
"Regret?" Malone said. "Like what?"
"I mean, don't resign."
"Chief, how did you know—you're not telepathic too, are you?"