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hissed, fisting his hands to stop the ssating heat in his fingertips faded

Poor Edith looked as if she ht retch, Doctor I stu twirl of heavy fabric and the

door, sla it shut behind her

Ian closed his eyes and sagged forward A dull, thudding pain beat at the base of his skull, deepening with each shallow breath he took

How long could he go on? he wondered for thecould ano one, never being touched?

That first year after the "accident," he thought he'd go ht the damned psychic ability would simply s him whole and he would fade away

Nothing so dramatic had happened, however, and after a while he'd stopped expecting it to, stopped expecting anything at all He'd si

Pretending

He had died on a Sunday The Sabbath

When Ian looked back on it nohich he did with ularity?he remembered that it had been such an ordinary day So da of winter

It had started like every other day back then, with a blinding sense of purpose and an overwhel optiues advised against

As always, the doubt spurred Ian on, challenged hi an outbreak of dissension a the other doctors at New York Hospital He'd done the unheard-of?he'd worn gloves and demanded the same of his assistant, and even worse,

12

he'd forced Dr Jones, his superior, to put out his cigar during the operation