Midbin’s method of treatment smacked of the mystical. His subjects were supposed to relax on a couch and say whatever came into their minds. At least this was the clearest part of the explanation he gave when I rebelliously escorted the girl to his “office,” a large, bare room decorated only by some old European calendars by the popular academician, Picasso. The couch was a cot which Midbin himself used more conventionally at night. “All right,” I said; “just how are you going to manage?” “Convince her everything’s all right and I’m not going to hurt her.” “Sure,” I agreed. “Sure. Only: how?” He gave me one of his head-on-shoulder looks and turned to the girl who waited apathetically, with downcast eyes. “You lie down,” he suggested. “Me? I’m not dumb.” “Pretend you are. Lie down, close your eyes, say the first thing on your tongue. Without stopping to think about it.” “How can I say anything if I’m pretending to be dumb?” Grudgingly I complied, fancying a faint look of curiosity passing over the too-placid face. “‘No man bathes twice in the same stream,’” I muttered. He made me repeat the performance several times, then by pantomime urged her to imitate me. It was doubtful if she understood; in the end we nudged her gently into the required position. There was no question of relaxation; she lay there warily, tense and stiff even with her eyes closed. The whole business was so manifestly useless and absurd, to say nothing of being undignified, that I was tempted to walk out on it. Only ignoble calculation on Midbin’s voting for my acceptance in the haven kept me there. Looking at the form stretched out so rigidly, I could not but admit again that the girl was beautiful. But the admission was dispassionate; the beauty was abstract and neutral, the lovely young lines evoked no lust. I felt only vexation because her plight kept me from the wonders of Haggershaven. “What good can this possibly do?” I burst out after ten fruitless minutes. “Youre trying to find out why she can’t talk and she can’t talk to tell you why she can’t talk.” “Science explores all methods of approach,” Midbin answered loftily; “I’m searching for a technique which will reach her. Bring her back tomorrow.” I swallowed my annoyance and started out. The girl jumped up and pressed close to my side. Outdoors the air was crisp; I felt her suppress a slight shiver. “Now I suppose I’ll have to take you where it’s warm or find a wrap for you,” I scolded irritably. “I don’t know why I have to be your nursemaid.” She whimpered very softly and I was remorseful. None erf this was her fault; my callousness was inexcusable. But if she could only attach herself to some other protector and leave me alone....