"Did you notice that lean, tanned cat in the expensive suit? He was licking his chops as if he wanted to dive through the glass and eat that meat before the pathologists got their hands on it. And the hungry look in those cold, steely eyes! Man, I'll bet he'd have gnawed off the other breast before anyone could stop him if he'd been down below with us!"

"Kee-rist, Jack!" said the anesthetist, disgusted with the way the intern's mind worked. "How could you interpret all that by a couple of looks at an observer during such a short operation? Sure you aren't a bit of a sadist, yourself? He was probably just straining to get a good view, like any doctor might, in case he ever has to perform the same operation himself."

"Not him, friend!" protested the intern. "He's not a surgeon. He's a field rep for Boswell Bio-Ceuticals. I know, because he had lunch with Grafton and me. And different things he talked about gave me the feeling he wasn't exactly normal in his attitude toward the physiology of surgery."

"I still think you've got a sick mind, Jack," said the anesthetist. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm on standby for O.R. Two. Some chick who wants a natural delivery just might scream for a little help at the last minute when those pains get real bad."

Pal hurried out into the hall before she could be noticed. By the time the two men appeared, she was busily pretending to drink at the hall fountain. When they separated, she slowly followed the intern, who was headed for the coffee room, she knew. She wanted to see if he was going to spread any more of his sick slander.

She wasn't quite sure why she felt the urge to protect Paul Harshman's reputation. After all, even if she did have a date with him, she hadn't known him longer than three hours, and their meeting had been awfully brief. Of course, she had eyed him several times in the last few months.