faces almost hidden behind their gauze masks.... "They took me to see a Mr. Malcolm the other day," Stan said in a low voice. "He told me I hated the city and that I even hated my own mother and brother. Can you beat that? Honest, this character...." His voice trailed away. Mr. Ainsworth was staring at the floor, a frown on his face. "Everybody builds up resentments against parents who are overly strict, Stan. And it's not unusual for a mother to favor one of her children over the others." Stan stared at him, open-mouthed. "But you're agreeing with Mr. Malcolm," he whispered. "Honest, you must be a little crazy, too." Mr. Ainsworth looked hurt. "I'm your friend, Stan—I wouldn't lie to you! I didn't save your life just so I could tell you lies!" It was crazy, Stan thought. He had been on his way to the stockyards one morning and the roof had fallen in. He had been kidnapped and tortured apparently for no other reason than to be told he hated his family. It didn't make sense. He dropped his cigarette on the carpet and ground it out under his heel. "You're just as bad as the others—you're working right in with them!" Mr. Ainsworth looked disappointed and pressed a button on his desk. Tanner appeared in the doorway, his face as impersonal as ever. "You'll have to take him back, Fred." He looked at Stan sadly. "We're trying to be your friends, son, and you won't let us. We're only telling you the truth!" Stan started to shake. "You can go to hell," he blurted. Tanner took him by the arm to lead him out and the very touch of his hand made Stan tremble even more. He was shaking like a leaf, and he couldn't stop it. It had been such an odd thing. When he had told Mr. Ainsworth he was as bad as the others, Mr. Ainsworth had ... flickered. CHAPTER III They stripped him and put him in a room that felt like the inside of a packing-house refrigerator. His breath came in little wisps of fog and if he stood in one place too long, his feet started to freeze to the floor. He had to keep moving to keep warm and
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