His eyes snap back to my face but although he is obviously affected, he is also unrepentant. He smiles at me, or rather he sort of leers at me. I ask ...im what he is smiling about and of course he gives the stock answer of, “Nothing.” “Have you been looking at me?” I insist. “Naaaaaaah,” he replies. “What have you been trying to look at, Robert? I know you have been looking down my front. What were you trying to look at just now?" He looks down, that’s good at least, but then looks back up and. He made for the stairs, whistling an old tune to announce himself as he climbed the carpeted surface. At the top he glanced both ways—at the end to his right one door sat slightly ajar, a shaft of sunlight breaking out to the hall. Shifting the bag again to his other hand, he made for the door. He knocked lightly and pushed it open. It gave a faint creak. For a moment he couldn’t see with the light bursting into his eyes, so he said in a sing-song voice, “Hello?” “Hello, Doctor Johnson.” He. More

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