"Commands." He says it not like a question, but like an idea, a concept he's unraveling in the labyrinthine network of his mind, twisting it and turning it over and pulling it apart. It's notable that he treats information the same way Hyde treats people, something to be absorbed and consumed and made his own, the correlation therein elementary.

The human brain is capable of holding as many as seven conscious thoughts at once, but beyond that something slips down to a place of lower priority; the statistic exists, of course, but ascertaining whether or not it's really true is about as easy as proving that any two people so much as see the color green the same way. Henry wonders if somewhere Martel is always thinking lights and somewhere else all these other small miracles, because ...he really loves human biology, all right, he's not doing what he is entirely out of misspent guilt. "How much trouble would it be to teach me?"

This seems like a really good idea.