“Look, my friend,” said Boyle with exasperation, “a week ago, I hardly knew you. Now I find you dogging me like my Siamese twin. Telephone calls, interminable conversations — all about time, time, time. I’m not interested, do you understand? Why don’t you attach yourself to someone who would be? A close friend, maybe a minister or a psychologist, or some kind of ologist who would go big for this sort of monkey business. I’m a general practitioner, and a damned busy one.”
