All the way to Dr. Guarino's office they avoid speaking to each other.
Silence on the bus, and silence walking three blocks from the bus to the downtown office building.
After about fifteen minutes, Dr. Guarino comes out to the waiting room to greet them.
He is fat and balding, and he looks as if he would pop through his white lab jacket.
Charlie is fascinated by the thick white eyebrows and white moustache that twitch from time to time.
Sometimes the moustache twitches first, followed by the raising of both eyebrows,
but sometimes the brows go up first and the moustache twitch follows.
The large white room into which Guarino ushers them smells recently painted, and it is almost bare—
two desks on one side of the room, and on the other, a huge machine with rows of dials and four long arms like dentist's drills.
Nearby is a black leather examination table with thick, webbed, restraining straps.
"Well, well, well," says Guarino, raising his eyebrows, "so this is Charlie."
He grips the boy's shoulders firmly. "We're going to be friends."
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