“Mildred,” I said, “doubtless these days you would prefer not to see me.” She did not answer this. “But something possibly important has come up: I feel that I should speak to you.”
She hesitated.
“Meet me at lunch, at Sherry’s ... at one-thirty.”
i
MY work took me. I worked well. Doctor Isaac Stein’s warm voice startled me at my shoulder.
“You have a fine power of concentration, Doctor Mark. I’ve been here five minutes watching your immobile absorption.”
I turned and met the gray eyes of the great bio-chemist: of the man whom of all Americans I admired most.
“It is the contrary of concentration. My brain is split in two. And the one part does not trouble the other.”
He nodded and frowned.
“It’s the part of your brain which dwells so voluptuously with those ganglions, that interests me.”