“With Dr. Edgar Hollingsworth.” “Who’s he?” “The top radiologist in the city.” “Where’s his office?” “Fifth and fifty-third.” “Who are the friends?” This abrupt switch threw her for a moment. “The friends?” “You said you had some.” “Oh,” she said quickly. “Do you want their names?” The little sarcasms she mustered added to her bravery. He curled his mouth disgustedly. “Anything that will help,” he said. “Names mean nothing. Who are they?” “Well,” she said, “some are men and some are women.” For a triumphant moment she felt like laughing in his face. But his face had grown dark, and a flash of fear prevented her. “My roommate,” she went on, more timidly. “For one. She’s a very nice girl, I’ve met a lot of wonderful people through her. The doctors have been wonderful to me.” “Everybody’s ‘wonderful’,” he mimicked. “I was surprised to find that people can be nice, Father.” “God! If a man accused me of being ‘nice’ I’d spit in his face.” “And decent and human!” she said hotly. His face grew dangerous now and his body tense. “Are you implying that I’m not human?” Her fear grew suddenly quite strong and for a moment she wavered. Then she said softly, “If you’re going to beat me, Father, do it now and let’s get it over with.” He laughed; an awful laugh she remembered very well. It was usually the prelude to violence. “Well, isn’t that noble,” he said. “Why don’t you pull down your pants and bend over? Make it easy for me?” “You’ve beaten me all my life, whenever I displeased you. And I seem to displease you just by existing. I’ve never seen you beat anyone your own size, Father, but you’re awfully damn good at beating _me_.” “My, aren’t we grown up!” he said. “We not only talk back to our Father now, we swear at him. That’s real sophistication.” “You don’t know how much I hate you, Father! You can’t know! I’ve begun to think that’s what you want. You’ve worked hard enough all my life to make me hate you.” His face changed again, became grave and heavy. Her eyes watched him intently, like eyes that have witnessed floods scan the skies for sun. He turned away from her, dragging on his cigarette, knocking ashes into a heavy glass tray on the dresser. “Why do you hate me, Laura?” he asked dispassionately. “Because I discipline you now and then? Isn’t that a father’s prerogative?” “Not when it ruins his child’s life.” “Is your life ruined?” he said sharply. “You have a ‘wonderful’ job, ‘wonderful’ friends. Wonderful money in the bank, wonderful everything. Hell, I seem to have done you a favor.”