I shook my head. "Look at you. The scientific description of your situation on this bloody shelf is known to tens of thousands. But not to you. You're the victim of old lies. You're about to toss yourself into the late afternoon because you were so busy learning new truths in physics that you never bothered to dispel the old lies in your psychology. You're a damned anachronism! A burnt offering to Woman. You're a puppet of a lot of myths and legends and poor child training. You might as well be a pagan male virgin--offered up to some fat, female goddess by your tribe. A man that isn't a man. A scientist from the neck up--and a howling heathen from the waist down. Unaware of the fact. A pretty picture!" "I suppose," he said with the utmost bitterness, "that I would be sitting in your apartment chortling happily--if I had ideals like yours. The scientific integrity of a whore-master." "My ideals," I said, "at least keep a mediocre author plugging to the end. Yours, apparently won't save one of the world's top mathematicians from one lousy pair of legs." "That's all you feel about a woman!" "That's all _you_ feel! Fate took away your candy and now you won't play. It was public candy, anyhow--and only good for all the boys. You wouldn't face that. But if you want to love women realistically, that's just what you'll have to face, among a lot of other things. Love lies a long way beyond Marcia's behavior." I tried to grin at him. "I'm supposed to be a psychologist, myself. There should be a way by which I could persuade what's left of your senses to stop playing Prometheus and get off your rock." "Outsmart me?" "Shouldn't I be able? If my dope's any good?" "It isn't any good, though. Just a flashy bunch of extrapolation and phony biology. You're no real philosopher, Phil." "Maybe not. Still--it isn't my product. It's Jung's. He's something of a brain." "Horse manure." "There is plenty of it down there in the street," I said. "If you want to add yourself--by a method that will make you indistinguishable from the rest of it--" He doubled up his fist and smacked the concrete. "Can't you see I'm tormented--?" I shook my head a few times. "Yeah. Everybody can--for blocks." He began to sob. I inched up from the sill and braced myself. All it would take was about one tear-blinded second-- He must have heard something on the floor below because he stopped gasping, suddenly, and leaned way out. Then he began hitching along the wall. He hitched right past me--his eyes on mine the whole way--and I have never seen any eyes exactly like that, before. They knew what was going on behind them--and didn't know. They weren't maniacal--but they were not sane, either.