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(
The
girl
in
her
mid-teens
allowed
a
look
of
intense
concentration
to
cross
her
thin
,
plain
face
.
She
whipped
out
a
small
notebook
and
began
writing
in
rapid
pot-hooks
.
)
There
was
an
oily
whir
of
gears
and
a
mechanically
timbred
voice
boomed
out
in
words
that
lacked
accent
and
intonation
,
"
I
-
am
-
the
-
robot
-
that
-
talks
.
"
Gloria
stared
at
it
ruefully
.
It
did
talk
,
but
the
sound
came
from
inside
somewheres
.
There
was
no
face
to
talk
to
.
She
said
,
"
Can
you
help
me
,
Mr.
Robot
,
sir
?
"
The
Talking
Robot
was
designed
to
answer
questions
,
and
only
such
questions
as
it
could
answer
had
ever
been
put
to
it
.
It
was
quite
confident
of
its
ability
,
therefore
,
"
I
-
can
-
help
-
you
.
"
"
Thank
you
,
Mr.
Robot
,
sir
.
Have
you
seen
Robbie
?
"
"
Who
-
is
Robbie
?
"
"
He
's
a
robot
,
Mr.
Robot
,
sir
.
"
She
stretched
to
tip-toes
.
"
He
's
about
so
high
,
Mr.
Robot
,
sir
,
only
higher
,
and
he
's
very
nice
.
He
's
got
a
head
,
you
know
.
I
mean
you
have
n't
,
but
he
has
,
Mr.
Robot
,
sir
.
"
The
Talking
Robot
had
been
left
behind
,
"
A
-
robot
?
"
"
Yes
,
Mr.
Robot
,
sir
.
A
robot
just
like
you
,
except
he
ca
n't
talk
,
of
course
,
and
-
looks
like
a
real
person
.
"
"
A
-
robot
-
like
-
me
?
"
