believe me."
Simpson's shoulders slumped. With the slump, went all trace of stone from the face. It was still a wooden face, true, but . . .

Such was the nature of John Chandler Simpson. Mike had his full measure now. He could live with wood.
Wearily, Simpson rubbed his face. "Ah, it's all crap anyway, Mike. Just the last parting shot of a man who hates to admit he was wrong about anything." When he removed the hand, to stare back out of the window, he was almost smiling. "You were right, weren't you? When all is said and done. I thought you were insane to think we could build another United States your way. Throw it open overnight to people who had none of our background, customs, traditions."
Mike's mouth twisted. "Well . . . it was a risky enterprise.