'Yes,' she sighed. 'Instead of counting sheep.'
'Things loom up pretty big about two a.m., don't they, if there's something on your mind?'
'There's nothing on my mind.'
John Sheldon laid down Sheilah's hand beside her on the bed, as if it had been a book, or something unalive, and took out of his bag near by an accessory that was almost as much a part of him as his glasses. He slipped it over his head, but he didn't put the little hard rubber ends into his ears. Not immediately. First he said, 'Well, even if there was something on your mind, you don't have to tell me. I'm here just to help you sleep better, Sheilah, and eat better. That's what your mother has asked me to come here to do.'
Suddenly Sheilah turned towards him and burst out, 'Oh, mother's the trouble, partly,' and then stopped.
John Sheldon waited. He didn't urge. He leaned back in his chair and waited.
'I can't bear to have mother touch me lately. I lock my door at night for fear she'll come in, and talk to me, and stroke my arm, and I'll burst out and tell her to go away. It would hurt her dreadfully if I did, for she thinks we're especially sympathetic. And we used to be. I didn't use to mind her coming in, but now—oh, now—isn't it awful?—I don't want her near me!'
