Desperately, as if to make up for her forced physical limitations, the images from her mind gained renewed, impossible strength, battering down the mental 'shields' Charles had erected about his mind and once again torturing him with their horrific clarity.
Cold... so cold... what room is this? Grey walls, cold hard walls... bars, casting shadows... shadows with big grinning grins... white teeth... Cheshire bars... cannot move... arms legs cannot move... questions... questions coming from that corner... man-in-the-corner... questions questions questions... man-in-the-corner grins... Cheshire man-in-the-corner... ' shock treatment'... what are they doing to me/her?... wires coming coming... walls moving in... crushing crushing me/her... ' shock treatment'... "Aaaaaaaaaaaiiiii...!"
Cold sweat running down his back, Charles understood.
" Stop!" he cried.
Lensherr turned to him calmly, but there was the element of surprise about him. The syringe in his hand glinted in the morning rays. A sudden wave of futility washed over Charles (was it from him, or from her?) and he suddenly felt that there was little he could do to remedy the situation. Defeat attacked him on all sides, for he knew that the damage was done, and the only way now was to let events take their course. He shook his head. " Nothing... proceed."
Lensherr stared at him a moment, and then he turned his back on Charles, and administered the morphine. Gabrielle's struggles soon grew lethargic, her breathing slowed, and she fell gradually into a deep, troubled slumber.