"Maybe, maybe not. I had a uniform once. The FBI go to college and
take off their hats in the house, but they're still cops, and I don't
like cops. Don't look at me like that; you wouldn't like cops either,
if you made less than a couple of hundred a week. Nobody does. So I'm
prejudiced against everybody, and just what difference does it make?"
"Not a great deal. I was just curious." He was honest, anyway. "But
you can see the possibilities, or the lack of them."
"Look," and I got up to take as many steps as the cabin would allow.
"This is where we came in. We could talk all day and get no further.
All I want to know is this--what's going to happen to me, and when,
and where?"
He followed me with his steady eyes. "Well, at the immediate moment,
I'm afraid that--" He hesitated.
"I'm afraid that, quick like a bunny, you're going to have one solid
headache if we don't quit using the same words over and over again.
Here I am stuck in the middle of all the water in the world, and I'm
tired, and I'm disgusted, and I'm starting to get mad. You're trying
to smother my head in a pillow, I've got nothing but a first-class
run-around from you and everyone I've seen, who has been one man named
Bob Stein. I see nothing, I know less, I get cold shoulders and hot
promises."
I sailed right on, not giving him a chance to slide in one word. "Why,
there must be ten thousand men and maybe some women right upstairs,
and who knows how many within a few miles from here, and do I get to
even pass the time of day with any of them? Do I? You bet your sweet
life I don't!"
"There aren't any women within miles of here, except nurses, and maybe
a reporter, and I'm not sure about that."
"Nurses and reporters are human, aren't they?"