"No!"
"You are so eager to leave here? Why?"
"Just to get out. To be free. Isn't that enough?"
"Nonsense, lad; nonsense. You are doing fine here, just fine. Look at it this way. You are here for the common good, yours and society's, in protective custody. You have made rather a nice adjustment. Quite nice, really. To accept it gracefully, gratefully, is best. And, with me as your counsel, there is no reason why we cannot hope to continue your case indefinitely—for years, for decades. Why...."
"No! No, they can't, you can't do that to me." A highly unoriginal protest. Mr. Boswell made a mild sound of disapproval. At such times he regretted the limitations of construction that did not permit him a shake of the head.
"Years? Decades? No! I can't stand it; I can't, I won't. I'll find a way out. I'll make a way."
"Suicide? Oh now, my boy, please. To take your own life? A shameful thing. And not at all fair to my firm."
"No, not suicide. I—I'll break out. Damn you, I will. I'll grab your damned wire—I can reach it from here; I'll pull your plug. You'll have to take me out of here or I'll let your juice run out and you'll die. Boswell, you're going to hide me under that machinery of yours and take me out."
"Oh? But my boy—what then?"
"Then I'll be out, that's what."