Yes."

David got up and reached for his hat. Then he braced himself for the
real purpose of his visit.

"What I have been wondering about," he said, very carefully, "is this:
this mechanism of fear, this wall--how strong is it?"

"Strong?"

"It's like a dam, I take it. It holds back certain memories, like a
floodgate. Is anything likely to break it down?"

"Possibly something intimately connected with the forgotten period might
do it. I don't know, Livingstone. We've only commenced to dig into
the mind, and we have many theories and a few established facts. For
instance, the primal instincts--"

He talked on, with David nodding now and then in apparent understanding,
but with his thoughts far away. He knew the theories; a good many of
them he considered poppycock. Dreams might come from the subconscious
mind, but a good many of them came from the stomach. They might be
safety valves for the mind, but also they might be rarebit. He didn't
want dreams; what he wanted was facts. Facts and hope.

The office attendant came in. She was as tidy as the desk, as obsessed
by order, as wooden. She placed a pad before the small man and withdrew.
He rose.

"Let me know if I can be of any further assistance, Doctor," he said.
"And I'll be glad to see your patient at any time. I'd like the record
for my files."

"Thank you," David said. He stood fingering his hat.

"I suppose there's nothing to do? The dam will either break, or it
won't."

"That's about it. Of course since the conditions that produced the
setting up of the defensive machinery were unhappy, I'd say that
happiness will play a large part in the situation. That happiness and
a normal occupation will do a great deal to maintain the status quo.
Of course I would advise no return to the unhappy environment, and no
shocks. Nothing, in other words, to break down the wall."

Outside, in the corridor, David remembered to put on his hat. Happiness
and a normal occupation, yes. But no shock.

Nevertheless, he felt vaguely comforted, and as though it had helped to
bring the situation out into the open and discuss it. He had carried his
burden alone for ten years, or with only the additional weight of Lucy's
apprehensions. He wandered out into the city streets, and found himself,
some time later, at the railway station, without remembering how he got
there.

Across from the station was a large billboard, and on it the name of
Beverly Carlysle and her play, "The V