"You'd better try women," said Norcross.
"Women, narcotics, or anything else! I'd eat a blueberry pie with my hands behind my back at high noon," said Prime Center with fierce obscenity, "if I thought it would do any good!"
He cut the connection.
Norcross was still under the oak tree, lost in contemplation of a color abstraction on his little communication, when a tall blonde girl, brown as a berry, stepped hesitantly through the hedge. She walked to him and, when he looked up, she buried her face in her hands. He stood and held her shoulders.
"Now, now," said Scientist Norcross, "don't cry, my dear."
"But this is so puzzling—and I wasn't crying," she answered. "What's happened to me?"
"Sit down, Monica, and tell me what you think has happened."
"But I don't know. You see, the last I remember is walking through the Psych Lab in San Francisco, and suddenly—suddenly, I'm in New York and they're sending me to you. What has happened?"
"Where do you first remember being in New York?"
"In the—oh, I don't know!" She was in a flush of embarrassment.