A light the size and shape of North America burst in Malone's mind. He almost chortled. But he managed to keep his voice under control. "What she needs," he said, "is a trained psychiatric nurse."
Barbara Wilson gave him a look that had carloads of U235 stacked away in it, but Malone barely minded. She'd get over it, he told himself.
"Now, wasn't that sweet of you to think of that," the little old lady said. Malone looked at her and was rewarded with another wink. Good God, he thought. She reads minds!
"I'm certainly glad you thought of Barbara," the little old lady went on. "You will go with me, won't you, dear? I'll make you a duchess. Wouldn't you like to be a duchess, dear?"
Barbara looked from Malone to the little old lady, and then she looked at Dr. Harman. Apparently what she saw failed to make her happy.
"We'll take good care of her, Barbara," Malone said.
She didn't even bother to give him an answer. After a second Boyd said: "Well, I guess that settles it. If you'll let me use your phone, Dr. Harman, I'll call Judge Dunning."
"Go right ahead," Dr. Harman said. "Go right ahead."
The little old lady smiled softly without looking at anybody at all.
"Won't it be wonderful," she whispered. "At last I've been recognized.
My country is about to pay me for my services. My loyal subjects…."
She stopped and wiped what Malone thought was a tear from one
cornflower-blue eye.
"Now, now, Miss Thompson," Barbara said.