see them again. I can't talk to people in a crowd."

Through the windows he could see the lights of a sleeping city flash by like speeding fireflies. "Never thought of it that way," he said.

Suddenly, without warning, the hurtling elevated car leaped under him. He was thrown to the floor as the car jumped the tracks and twisted upon itself. George saw the lights go off and heard the girl scream—and then her scream was cut off, sharply, by the grinding, tearing crunch of impact.

Blackness.

"Good morning, George. Did sleep well?"

There she was again—that soft, quiet voice! Sleep? I don't know if I did or not. Is it morning?

"Yes—a beautiful morning." Her voice was like lilacs, George thought. Sweet, soft lilacs.

"Lilacs? Thank you, George."

Go away! I don't want you to hear my thinking.

"Then don't sub-vocalize. Don't worry, you'll soon get the hang of it. Just think without trying to move your tongue and your lips, and I can't hear you."

Where am I?

"You're in a hospital." Her voice was gentle, soft.

And you?

"I'm Karen—your nurse, George."

How bad am I? I mean—I remember being on an elevated train when it crashed.

"You're going to be all right. The doctors will have you all put back together again. You just need some new parts."

It was that bad, huh?

"You almost died. But you're alive now. Please get well, George."

What kind of shape am I in?

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