"Edward, are you all right?" Schiller stepped forward and shook hands with a gaunt youth. "How have you been feeling lately?"
"Uh... pretty good." Edward kept nodding. Judging by his behavior, he was still somewhat abnormal, but his verbal logic was much better than before. "Mrs. Miller gave me a leather notebook. She said I could write down my riddles, and then she'd publish them for me. That way, people all over the world could see the riddles I wrote. She said they'd all be able to solve them. I don't think they can."
"You can give it a try," Schiller said. "But if you let the whole world guess, they'll definitely solve most of them. By the same token, the ones left unsolved will surely be your best riddles."
"That's not how it works," Edward argued. "A riddle is only a good riddle if people can solve it. If so many people around the world can't solve even one riddle, then there's something wrong with the riddle. There are lots of smart people in the world. If they can't understand me, then who can?"
Schiller looked at Edward with some surprise. It was not because of his argument, but because Edward had actually managed to say such a long, coherent string of words. It proved that his condition was beginning to improve.
The two of them entered the ward together. Edward said, "I'm glad you came to see me, Professor. Have you seen Cobblepot recently?"
"No, he's busy with the factory," Schiller said. "I'm not sure whether he's gone to Krypton. Maybe I can have him send you a postcard."
"He went to another planet? Can't I go too?" Edward scratched his cheek. "I want to go too, but Brainiac probably won't allow it. It must be interesting there.