sent circumstances, and had
been built for future accommodations.

Still, Harry couldn't help wondering.

And now, on this particular afternoon, he sat on the bank of the
little river which ran through the valley, feeling the mid-summer sun
beating down upon his forehead and staring down at the eddying current
with its ripples and reflections.

_Ripples and reflections...._

Dr. Manschoff had answered his questions well, yet new questions had
arisen.

Most people didn't go crazy any more, the doctor had explained, and so
there were very few treatment centers such as this.

_Question: Why were there any at all?_

A place like this cost a fortune to staff and maintain. In an age
where living-space and areable acreage was at such a premium, why
waste this vast and fertile expanse? And in a society more and more
openly committed to the policy of promoting the greatest good for the
greatest number, why bother about the fate of an admittedly
insignificant group of mentally disturbed patients?

Not that Harry resented his situation; in fact, it was almost too good
to be true.

_Question: Was it too good to be true?_

Why, come to realize it, he'd seen less than a dozen other patients
during his entire stay here! All of them were male, and all of
them--apparently--were recovering from a condition somewhat similar to
his own. At least, he'd recognized the same reticence and diffidence
when it came to exchanging more than a perfunctory greeting in an
encounter in an outer corridor. At the time, he'd accepted their
unwillingness to communicate; welcomed and understood it because of
_his_ condition. And that in itself wasn't what he questioned now.

But why were there so _few_ patients beside himself? Why were they all
males? And why weren't _they_ roaming the countryside now the way he
was?

So many staff-members and so few patients. So much room and luxury and
freedom, and so little use of it. So little apparent purpose to it
all.

_Question: Was there a hidden purpose?_

Harry stared down into the ripples and reflections, and the sun was
suddenly intolerably hot, its glare on the water suddenly blinding and
bewildering. He saw his face mirrored on the water's surface, and it
was not the familiar countenance he knew--the features were bloated,
distorted, shimmering and wavering.

Maybe it was starting all over again. Maybe he was getting another one
of those headaches. Maybe he was going to lose control again