“As if he had nothing to do but wait for me,” thought Carl. . .
The office was completely silent, and filled with milky light. The doctor shook Carl’s hand, keeping his eyes on the young man’s chest. . .
” I’ve seen this man before,” Carl thought. . . “But where?”
He sat down and crossed his legs. He glanced at an ashtray on the desk and lit a cigarette. . . He turned to the doctor a steady inquiring gaze in which there was more than a touch of insolence.
The doctor seemed embarrassed. . . He fidgeted and coughed. . . and fumbled with papers. . .
” Hurumph,” he said finally. . . ” Your name is Carl Peterson I believe. . .” His glasses slid down into his nose in parody of the academic manner. . .Carl nodded silently. . . The doctor did not look at him but seemed none the less to register the acknowledgement. . . He pushed his glasses back into place with one finger and opened a file on the white enamelled desk.
“Mmmmmmmmmm. Carl Peterson,” he repeated the name caressingly; pursed his lips and nodded several times. He spoke again abruptly: ” You know of course that we are don’t succeed.” His voice trailed off thin and tenuous. He put a hand to his forehead. ” To adjust the state-simply a tool-to the needs of each individual citizen.” His voice boomed out so unexpectedly deep and loud that Carl started. “That is the only function of the state as we see it. Our knowledge. . . incomplete, of course,” he made a slight gesture of deprecation. . .
” For example. . .for example . . .take the matter of uh