"No, I am afraid not."
"You think I'd be seen dead wearing this stuff? What is this, some
religious crackpot hospital?"
Reston-Farrell said, "I am afraid, Mr. Salviati-Prantera, that these are
the only garments available. I suggest you look out the window there."
Joe gave him a long, chill look and then stepped to the window. He
couldn't figure the other. Unless he was a fruitcake. Maybe he was in
some kind of pressure cooker and this was one of the fruitcakes.
He looked out, however, not on the lawns and walks of a sanitarium but
upon a wide boulevard of what was obviously a populous city.
And for a moment again, Joe Prantera felt the depths of nausea.
This was not his world.
He stared for a long, long moment. The cars didn't even have wheels, he
noted dully. He turned slowly and faced the older man.