"I'll run and bring him back. "Only sprained it a little, that's all," answered Thames; "the pain will go off presently. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. She delighted in frustrating him. " "Nor I," returned Ireton, following his example: "and I've had some experience too. An unwelcome idea came to him. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. ‘So it was. For I still love her mother.
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