Within Schiller's Mind Tower, Pride's room was enormous and spanned two floors. The first floor held the living and work areas, while the second was the resting area.
Bruce often spent time on the first floor, so he stepped through the door with practiced ease. He used his heel to nudge the rug he had just stepped on back into place, perfectly aligning its far edge with the threshold, then walked forward.
Schiller went to the bookshelf, took out two books, and placed them on the table. Without looking back, he entered his own workspace, put on his glasses, and began leafing through a stack of documents as he spoke.
"I'm not sure why you've suddenly taken an interest in psychoanalysis, but I should remind you that psychology is a very young discipline. Those founding masters you know so well aren't historical figures."
"If you're hoping that ancient sages can offer you wisdom the way masters of mathematics and physics can, you're thinking too highly of them."
"Are you one of them?" Bruce sat down on the sofa. Then he noticed two glasses on the coffee table. The dryness of the remaining red wine stains showed that the previous visitor had left only recently, so he asked, "Did you have a guest before I came?"
Schiller's hand paused as he turned the pages. "That has nothing to do with why you came here today."
"Who was it? Greed?"
"No. A friend from afar."
Schiller walked over and placed the pile of material he had retrieved from his memory archive before Bruce. Instead of sitting down, he went to the desk in the work area and began tidying its surface.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. On Schiller's desk sat a half-folded envelope, a neatly stacked pile of writing paper, a seal, and