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Youmighthavetomakeastatementorsomething,andthenwe’dbelate...Richard?Whatareyoudoing?"
Richardhadpickedthegirlup,cradlingherinhisarms.Shewassurprisinglylight."I’mtakingherbacktomyplace,Jess.Ican’tjustleaveher.TellMisterStocktonI’mreallysorry,butitwasanemergency.I’msurehe’llunderstand."
"RichardOliverMayhew,"saidJessica,coldly."Youputthatgirldownandcomebackherethisminute.Orthisengagementisatanendasofnow.I’mwarningyou."
Richardfeltthestickywarmthofbloodsoakingintohisshirt.Sometimes,herealized,thereisnothingyoucando.Hewalkedaway,leavingbehindJessica,whostoodthereonthesidewalk,hereyesstungwithtears.
Richarddidnot,atanypointonhiswalk,stoptothink.Itwasnotsomethingoverwhichhehadanyvolition.Somewhereinthesensiblepartofhishead,someone—anormal,sensibleRichardMayhew—wastellinghimhowridiculoushewasbeing:thatheshouldjusthavecalledthepolice,oranambulance;thatitwasdangeroustoliftaninjuredperson;thathehadreally,seriouslyupsetJessica;thathewasgoingtohavetosleeponthesofatonight;thathewasruininghisonlyreallygoodsuit;thatthegirlsmelledterrible...butRichardfoundhimselfplacingonefootinfrontoftheother,and,armscrampingandbackhurting,ignoringthelookshegotfrompassers-by,hejustkeptwalking.Andafterawhilehewasatthegroundfloordoorofhisbuilding,andhewasstumblingupthestaircase,andthenhewasstandinginfrontofthedoortohisapartmentandrealizingthathehadlefthiskeysonthehalltable,inside...
