irl, and naturally you're sensitive about others working with
her. But when you consider that public taxes are footing the bill--"

"I'm sensitive about others exploiting her, that's all. I tell you, I
won't push her. And I wouldn't let her come up here, even if she agreed
to do it. She shouldn't be tampered with for another year or two at
least." Lambertson was angry and bitter. Now, three days later, he was
still angry.

"And you're certain that your concern is entirely--professional?"
(Whatever Aarons meant, it wasn't nice. Lambertson caught it, and oh,
my! Chart slapping down on the table, door slamming, swearing--from
mild, patient Lambertson, can you imagine? And then later, no more
anger, just disgust and defeat. That was what hit me when he came back
yesterday. He couldn't hide it, no matter how he tried.)

Well, no wonder he was tired. I remember Aarons all right. He wasn't so
interested in me, back in those days. _Wild one_, he called me. _We
haven't the time or the people to handle anything like this in a public
institution. We have to handle her the way we'd handle any other
defective. She may be a_ plus_-defective instead of a_ minus_-defective,
but she's as crippled as if she were deaf and blind._

Good old Aarons. That was years ago, when I was barely thirteen. Before
Dr. Custer got interested and started ophthalmoscoping me and testing
me, before I'd ever heard of Lambertson or the Study Center. For that
matter, before anybody had done anything but feed me and treat me like
some kind of peculiar animal or something.

Well, I'm glad it was Lambertson that went to Boston and not me, for
Aarons' sake. And if Aarons tries to come down here to work with me,
he's going to be wasting his time, because I'll lead him all around
Robin Hood's Barn and get him so confused he'll wish he'd stayed home.
But I can't help but wonder, just the same. _Am_ I a cripple like Aarons
said? Does being psi-high mean that? _I_ don't think so, but what does
Lambertson think? Sometimes when I try to read Lambertson I'm the one
that gets confused. I wish I could tell what he _really_ thinks.

* * * * *

_Wednesday night._ I asked Lambertson tonight what Dr. Custer had said.
"He wants to see you next week," he told me. "But Amy, he didn't make
any promises. He wasn't even hopeful."

"But his letter! He said the studies showed that there wasn't any
anatomical defect."

Lambertson leaned back and