The police, at parade rest, waited silently.

Pausing at the doorway before going on into his office, Dr Superb looked back at the people and then said, ‘Nice day.

For October, anyhow.' He tried to think of something more to say, some heroic phrase which would convey the nobility of his sentiments and position. But nothing came to mind.

Perhaps, he decided, it was because there simply was no nobility involved; he was simply doing what he had done five days a week now for years on end and it did not involve any special courage to keep the routine alive one more time. Of course, he would pay for this donkey-like persistence by being arrested; intellectually he knew that, but his body, his lower nervous system, did not. Somatically, he continued along his path.

Someone in the crowd, a woman, called, ‘We're with you, doctor. Good luck.' Several others grinned at him, and a flimsy cheer went up, briefly. The police looked bored. Dr Superb shut the door and went on.

In the front room, at her desk, his receptionist Amanda Conners raised her head and said, ‘Good morning, doctor.'

Her bright red hair glowed, tied by a ribbon, and from her low-cut mohair sweater, her breasts protruded divinely.

‘Morning,' Dr Superb said, pleased to see her here today, and so well-groomed at that. He handed her his coat, which she hung in the closet. ‘Um, who's the first patient?' He lit a mild Florida cigar.

Consulting her book, Amanda said, ‘It's Mr Rugge, doctor. At nine o'clock. That'll give you time for a cup of coffee. I'll fix it.' She quickly started towards the coffee machine in the corner.

‘You know what's going to be happening here in a little while,' Superb said. ‘Don't you?'

‘Oh yes. But the IAPP will provide bail, won't it?' She brought him the small paper cup, carrying it with shaking fingers.