“You look tired,” she said, gentling her voice. “You look diseased. I know the mercury is eating at your mind, making it hard to think. Won’t you just admit you need help?”
“Demon,” he said, trying to pull his arm from her grasp but too weak to succeed. “Demon,” he said again, half a sob, and she realized he wasn’t referring to her, or even to Hakim. “It must be a demon. I try, but I can’t make my thoughts connect. My hands move but it’s not my doing. I burn, I itch; something is inside me. Why else would I do these things? These terrible things?” She thought he was going to break down into tears and was preparing to hug him until it passed, but instead he found a burst of strength, pulling free from her grip only to dig his fingers into her upper arms as he pulled her closer still to his
