Dr.

Ellsworth came in one time, carrying a tray, and when his eyes met mine over his mask I saw it clearly: doubt, and under the doubt, fear.

“Everything looks — routine, Mrs.

Draper,” he managed, and his hands were not quite steady.

“I certainly hope so, Doctor,” I said, holding his gaze until he had to drop it.

“My life is in your hands, isn’t it.”

He fled the room to go “prep,” and federal marshals were waiting for him in the hallway.