“Well, loyalty is a wonderful thing, but I suppose it can go too far, and overshadow reason, especially in the young. Is there any chance at all for the girl?”
“No possibility. Progressive degeneration of the brain-tissue.” He tossed off the Manhattan and the Bryd shuddered—it preferred Martinis, itself. “The only thing would be a miracle, and you know how scarce they are in the medical world.” He smiled. They both smiled. The Bryd mentally snorted. Who were they, to laugh at miracles? They thought they were pretty damn smart, didn’t they?
The Bryd decided it had better look in on Marillyn.
It found her in a glassed-in porch of the sanatorium, with her reclining chair facing south, and the sun pouring down through the magnolias. The Bryd liked this. Everything was restful and peaceful and pleasant—
But something was wrong as hell in Marillyn’s mind.
She had a small bottle of something in one hand under the light blanket, and she was lying back running over everything in her mind. Dale loved Ann and Ann loved Dale. But they couldn’t get married because of Dale’s exaggerated sense of duty.
Marillyn didn’t want to keep them apart. She could adjust herself to a very pleasant life in a place like this, but Dale wouldn’t let her. As fast as he could save some money, he’d dream up some new scheme to get her cured.
Well, Marillyn reasoned, she wasn’t of any use to anybody. Why should she stay in Dale’s way? The Bryd was puzzled. What did she think she could do?
She had the little bottle under the blanket, she was thinking. A few drops of that and—the Bryd was positively flabbergasted. The girl was getting