Chapter 20

           AttenminutestothreeIwentoutthebackdoorandaroundthecornertothefrontofthebank.Morphinhisbronzecagedrewinthesheafofmoneyandchecks,thebrownenvelope,andthedepositslips.HespreadthelittlebankbookswithaYoffingersandwrotesmallanglednumberswithasteelpenthatwhisperedonthepaper.Ashepushedthebooksouttomehelookedupwithveiledandcautiouseyes.

           "I’mnotgoingtotalkaboutit,Ethan.Iknowhewasyourfriend."

           "Thanks."

           "IfyouslipoutquickyoumightavoidtheBrain."

           ButIdidn’t.ForallIknowMorphmayhavebuzzedhim.Thefrosted-glassdooroftheofficeswungopenandMr.Baker,neatandspareandgray,saidquietly,"Canyouspareamoment,Ethan?"

           Nousetoputitoff.IwalkedintohisfrostydenandheclosedthedoorsosoftlythatIdidnothearthelatchclick.Hisdeskwastoppedwithplateglass,underwhichwerelistsoftypednumbers.Twocustomers’chairsinechelonstoodbyhistallchairliketwinsucklingcalves.Theywerecomfortablebutlowerthanthedeskchair.WhenIsatdownIhadtolookupatMr.Bakerandthatputmeinthepositionofsupplication.

           "Sadthing."

           "Yes."

           "Idon’tthinkyououghttotakealltheblame.Probablywouldhavehappenedanyway."

           "Probably."

           "I’msureyouthoughtyouweredoingtherightthing."

           "Ithoughthehadachance."

           "Ofcourseyoudid."

           Myhatredwasrisinginmythroatlikeayellowtaste,moresickeningthanfurious.

           "Apartfromthehumantragedyandwaste,itraisesadifficulty.