as different."

"How would they know? It doesn't show. Now if you had three legs, or a
long bushy tail, or outsized teeth...."

Lucilla smiled involuntarily, and then was furious at herself for
doing so and at Dr Andrews for provoking her into it. "This whole
thing is utterly asinine, anyhow. Here we are, talking as if I might
really be a mutant, and you know perfectly well that I'm not."

"Do I? You made the diagnosis, Lucilla, and you've given me some
mighty potent reasons for believing it ... can you give me equally
good reasons for doubting that you're a telepath?"

* * * * *

The peremptory demand left Lucilla speechless for a moment. She groped
blindly for an answer, then almost laughed aloud as she found it.

"But of course. I almost missed it, even after you practically drew me
a diagram. If I could read minds, just as soon as anybody found it
out, he'd be afraid of me, or hate me, like the book said, and you
said, too. If you believed it, you'd do something like having me
locked up in a hospital, maybe, instead of...."

"Instead of what, Lucilla?"

"Instead of being patient, and nice, and helping me see how silly I've
been." She reached out impulsively to touch his hand, then withdrew
her own, feeling somewhat foolish when he made no move to respond.
Her relief was too great, however, to be contained in silence. "Way
back the first time I came in, almost, you said that before we
finished therapy, you'd know me better than I knew myself. I didn't
believe you--maybe I didn't want to--but I begin to think you were
right. Lot of times, lately, you've answered a question before I even
asked it. Sometimes you haven't even bothered to answer--you've just
sat there in your big brown chair and I've lain here on the couch, and
we've gone through something together without using words at all...."
She had started out almost gaily, the words spilling over each other
in their rush to be said, but bit by bit she slowed down, then
faltered to a stop. After she had stopped talking altogether, she
could still hear her last few phrases, repeated over and over, like an
echo that refused to die. (Answered ... before I even asked ...
without using words at all ... without using words....)

She could almost taste the terror that clogged her throat and dried her
lips. "You do believe it. And you could have me locked up. Only ...
only...." Fragments of thought, splinters of words, and droplets o