‘But anyone with half a brain should know that so-called Faith is a crock,’ Lorne protested.
‘Spoken like a true sceptic,’ the doctor told him.
Lorne sighed, dissatisfied. ‘So you’re telling me that this woman is in her right mind and she believes in ghoulies.’
‘Quite.’
‘All right then. Do you know why she might try to play the part of being thick and obstinate?’
The doctor laughed at this. ‘My dear fellow, the woman is thick and obstinate. My guess is you’re overcomplicating the matter. Ms. Algood isn’t difficult to understand because she’s intelligent: she’s difficult to understand because she’s quite ignorant, correspondingly inarticulate, and as dumb as cart with square wheels.’
Lorne couldn’t quite suppress a groan. ‘Next I suppose you’ll be telling me that to understand her I have to think on her level.’
‘That wouldn’t be possible,’ said the Cheshire cat. ‘You’d need to be lobotomised first.’
‘How much would it cost?’ Lorne asked him rhetorically, thinking of the advantages in dealing with life in general.
A knock at the office door caused Lorne to look up in surprise, not that someone vied for his attention, but that his was his son, David.