This is a story about a young doctor (I will call her doctor B.) and her patient, George. More precisely, it is a story about guilt. It's 4 a.m. in a crowded emergency room. Doctor B. was the resident-on-call. She was wearing green scrubs, a white coat, a Littmann stethoscope. She wore no makeup. Her eyes were tired and red. She was sleep-deprived and exhausted. And yet, it took her only a brief moment to realize that something was terribly wrong with her new patient, George. She added it all up: a narrow, long face; a prominent, wide nose; an upper lip drawn as a thin, straight, faint line; and slightly crossed, empty eyes. This boy, she thought, must have some kind of syndrome.