She waited, without comment, while McMurphy continued to run around the halls in the mornings in his white-whale shorts, or pitched pennies in the dorms, or ran up and down the hall blowing a nickel-plated ref’s whistle, teaching Acutes the fast break from ward door to the Seclusion Room at the other end, the ball pounding in the corridor like cannon shots and McMurphy roaring like a sergeant, “Drive, you puny mothers, drive!”
When either one spoke to the other it was always in the most polite fashion. They put out a magnet to attract misinformation, fear, and outright madness--and some of the more presentable bits they receive may show up in court as fodder to further confuse an already informationally swamped jury?