[It's hard to say why William skirts real questions about the woman's desire to privacy. He might think it's ordinary patient prerogative, or it might be special courtesy.

Possibly also, her persiflage and numerous teeth might be that beguiling. He starts to steer them over to one of the imaging rooms.] Honestly, I'm beginning to think that going back over the network, learning the history of the SS Space Turd, and having loads of science equipment at hand, [he picks up both the hands in question and makes a Rubik cube kind of turning-and-mashing gesture, his brow knitting thoughtfully,] and having solved one wee problem has left me with the dangerous delusion that answers are possible.

Or worse yet: solutions. [He grimaces.]