don't think I'm supposed to
know yet. Lambertson didn't want to talk. He didn't even tell me he was
back, even though he knew I'd catch him five miles down the road. (I can
do that now, with Lambertson. Distance doesn't seem to make so much
difference any more if I just ignore it.)

So all I got was bits and snatches on the surface of his mind. Something
about me, and Dr. Custer; and a nasty little man called Aarons or
Barrons or something. I've heard of him somewhere, but I can't pin it
down right now. I'll have to dig that out later, I guess.

But if he saw Dr. Custer, _why doesn't he tell me about it_?

* * * * *

_Wednesday, 17 May._ It was _Aarons_ that he saw in Boston, and now I'm
sure that something's going wrong. I know that man. I remember him from
a long time ago, back when I was still at Bairdsley, long before I came
here to the Study Center. He was the consulting psychiatrist, and I
don't think I could ever forget him, even if I tried!

That's why I'm sure something very unpleasant is going on.

Lambertson saw Dr. Custer, too, but the directors sent him to Boston
because Aarons wanted to talk to him. I wasn't supposed to know anything
about it, but Lambertson came down to dinner last night. He wouldn't
even look at me, the skunk. I fixed _him_. I told him I was going to
peek, and then I read him in a flash, before he could shift his mind to
Boston traffic or something. (He knows I can't stand traffic.)

I only picked up a little, but it was enough. There was something very
unpleasant that Aarons had said that I couldn't quite get. They were in
his office. Lambertson had said, "I don't think she's ready for it, and
I'd never try to talk her into it, at this point. Why can't you people
get it through your heads that she's a _child_, and a human being, not
some kind of laboratory animal? That's been the trouble all along.
Everybody has been so eager to _grab_, and nobody has given her a
wretched thing in return."

Aarons was smooth. Very sad and reproachful. I got a clear picture of
him--short, balding, mean little eyes in a smug, self-righteous little
face. "Michael, after all she's twenty-three years old. She's certainly
out of diapers by now."

"But she's only had two years of training aimed at teaching _her_
anything."

"Well, there's no reason that _that_ should stop, is there? Be
reasonable, Michael. We certainly agree that you've done a wonderful job
with the g