"Why ... yes," Her Majesty said. "And I can see just what you're thinking. I'm afraid, Sir Kenneth, that I don't know whether it's selective or not. But ... oh. Just a minute. You go right on thinking, now, just the way you are." Her Majesty's eyes unfocused slightly and a long time passed, while Malone tried to keep on thinking. But it was difficult, he told himself, to think about things without having any things to think about. He felt his mind begin to spin gently with the rhythm of the last sentence, and he considered slowly the possibility of thinking about things when there weren't any things thinking about you. That seemed to make as much sense as anything else, and he was turning it over and over in his mind when a voice broke in.
"I was contacting Willie," Her Majesty said.
"Ah," Malone said. "Willie. Of course. Very fine for contacting."
Her Majesty frowned. "You remember Willie, don't you?" she said. "Willie Logan—who used to be a spy for the Russians, just because he didn't know any better, poor boy?"
"Oh," Malone said. "Logan." He remembered the catatonic youngster who had used his telepathic powers against the United States until Her Majesty, the FBI, and Kenneth J. Malone had managed to put matters right. That had been the first time he'd met Her Majesty; it seemed like fifty years before.
"Well," Her Majesty said, "Willie and I had a little argument just now. And I think you'll be interested in it."
"I'm fascinated," Malone said.
"Was he thinking about things or were things thinking about him?"
"Really, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said, "you do think about the silliest notions when you don't watch yourself."