"I don't mind. If you don't want to I won't press you." There another lengthy silence. When she turned her face to me I could see that she was crying... "I've been having these thoughts," she started to say. Another long lapse into silence. I felt she was collecting her thoughts and allowed her to proceed at her own pace. "About what?" I gently prompted her. I felt maybe she needed a little push in order to purge herself of whatever was troubling her. "It's embarassing," she said. "Don't. She sat there digesting that and then lit up even further and turned to me and said, "You mean I am going to get to pick out my own clothes? By myself?"I laughed and said that I didn't know much about women's clothes and sure hoped that she was going to pick things out. I told her that there were sales ladies in the store that would help her but that the choice of what to buy was hers alone. She looked at me with an almost distressed look about her and asked about how much money she could. What worries me is that they'll probably have to see something like a finished product to understand it. How much cost are we talking about for you to set up and take some preliminary shots, Scott?" Preliminary shots?" Something I can show the board with our product and all," Harry explained. "This girl, by the way, is too young to use. She looks all of eighteen or nineteen. That's not our market. We need somebody in their thirties. Not old, mind you, but a little more mature." Harry, to shoot. I recognized this as a portable Iron Lung or chest respirator. There was a wheeled hospital gurney along one wall and an electric wheelchair that looked identical to the one I was strapped in. The gurney and wheelchair both had a generous supply of the padded leather straps. Standing up against the same wall was a backboard like you see used by ambulance crews with accident victims and what I recognized as a "Stokes Litter" A wire mesh frame that a person lies down in instead of on. Both with.