"released from bondage and ridicule after seven destitute seasons, they raised the roof of shea stadium - while their fans attempted to dismantle it - in one of the loudest, wildest victory celebrations in baseball : history - " ._ the reverie is suddenly shattered, the real sounds of the hospital rising back up, as sidney, wild with excitement, bangs through the far doors of the corridor. he sprints past the crafts area, past leonard, runs the entire length of the corridor, and -
" . . . to the undistinguished bars of a hundred neighborhoods, new york yesterday went pleasantly mad over the world champion mets . . . ' 
you following me? * startled and embarrassed, leonard withdraws.
i'm kidding. i'm sorry. i saw you upstairs . . . just now. leonard nods without looking at her.
visiting someone?
you work here.
you're a patient? he admits it with a nod, lags back again, and eventually dares * another glance at her.
you don't look like a patient.
i don't know if he knows i visit him or not. i don't know that he knows who i am. my mother doesn't think so. she doesn't; come around any more--
sometimes i think i see something. * i think i see a change. and for a * second, i see him like he was . . . * she smiles at the memory of her father like he was . . . but then * it's gone and her smile fades.
does that make any sense? a slow nod from him . . .  *
why are you here?
things happen, people are late.
oh, they'll be angry. what're they going to do, fire me? he doesn't realize she's not asking him. he has to shrug that he doesn't know. , paula _ :
bye. he shakes the hand gently, lets it go.
thanks for talking to me.  she steps away toward the door.
i'll see you. she leaves.
hi, leonard. leonard glances up from his work. his mother glances up from her magazine. one of them is delighted to see the girl.
 i worked . . . i had friends (p over . . . i went dancing . . . that's about it . . . leonard, ticcing, nods, smiles through his grimace, imagining those things.
i know, i should do something with my life. 
you will. leonard shakes his nead 'no.'
i can see it. silence. as much as leonard wants to say "i love you," he knows he cannot, that it would be ludicrous. instead:
"night is generally my time for walking. in the summer, i often leave home early in the morning and roam about fields and lanes.: ' "^ all day. or even escape for days or weeks together . . . leonard is unable to acknowledge in any way that he recognizes the words or her voice . . . but he does. and as she reads, the words become alive and the walls recede .
"But saving in the country, I seldom go out until after dark, though Heaven be thanked, I love its light and feel the cheerfulness it sheds upon the earth as much as any creature living . . . " And he is moving into the light.