Я, Робот
Robbie
Therobotengineerhadalsodashedin,tearinghishair,anddemandingwhoofthegatheringcrowdhadtamperedwiththemachine."Can’tanybodyreadsigns?"heyelled."You’renotallowedinherewithoutanattendant."
Gloriaraisedhergrievedvoiceoverthedin,"IonlycametoseetheTalkingRobot,Mamma.IthoughthemightknowwhereRobbiewasbecausethey’rebothrobots."Andthen,asthethoughtofRobbiewassuddenlybroughtforcefullyhometoher,sheburstintoasuddenstormoftears,"AndIgottofindRobbie,Mamma.Igotto."
Mrs.Westonstrangledacry,andsaid,"Oh,goodHeavens.Comehome,George.ThisismorethanIcanstand."
Thatevening,GeorgeWestonleftforseveralhours,andthenextmorning,heapproachedhiswifewithsomethingthatlookedsuspiciouslylikesmugcomplacence.
"I’vegotanidea,Grace."
"Aboutwhat?"wasthegloomy,uninterestedquery.
"AboutGloria."
"You’renotgoingtosuggestbuyingbackthatrobot?"
"No,ofcoursenot."
"Thengoahead.Imightaswelllistentoyou.NothingI’vedoneseemstohavedoneanygood."
"Allright.Here’swhatI’vebeenthinking.ThewholetroublewithGloriaisthatshethinksofRobbieasapersonandnotasamachine.
