He kept his nose clean—but in the dreams he smelled the blood and brimstone of the pit.
He managed to retain a cheerful smile at all times—though, in the dreams, he screamed.
Eventually, he even met Myrna. She was the pretty little brunette whom Ritchie had mentioned, and she did her best to console him—only in dreams, when he embraced her, he was embracing a writhing coil of slimy smoke.
It may have been that Harry Collins went a little mad, just having to pretend that he was sane. But he learned the way, and he managed. He saved the madness (or was it the reality?) for the dreams.
Meanwhile he waited and said nothing.
He said nothing when, after three months or so, Myrna was suddenly "transferred" without warning.
He said nothing when, once a week or so, he went in to visit with Dr. Manschoff.
He said nothing when Manschoff volunteered the information that Ritchie had been "transferred" too, or suggested that it would be best to stay on for "further therapy."
And he said nothing when still a third nurse came his way; a woman who was callid, complaisant, and nauseatingly nymphomaniac.
The important thing was to stay alive. Stay alive and try to learn.