“Where’s my patient! There he is! Why, you look fine! What am I doing here? Maybe you better get up and take care of me, you look good. Would you like to take care of me, big handsome man?” She thrust a muscular arm under Adam’s shoulder and effortlessly hoisted him toward the head of the bed and held him up with her right arm while with her left she patted out the pillows and laid him back.

“Cool pillows,” she said. “Don’t you love cool pillows? Now, where’s the bathroom? Have you got a duck and a bedpan? Can you put a cot in here for me?”

“Make a list,” said Lee. “And if you need any help—with him—”

“Why would I need help? We’ll get along just fine, won’t we, sugar-sweetie?”

Lee and Cal retired to the kitchen. Lee said, “Before she came I was going to urge you to have some supper—you know, like the kind of person who uses food for any purpose good or bad? I bet she’s that way. You can eat or not eat, just as you wish.”

Cal grinned at him. “If you’d tried to make me, I’d have been sick. But since you put it that way, I think I’ll make a sandwich.”

“You can’t have a sandwich.”

“I want one.”

“It all works out,” said Lee, “true to outrageous form. It’s kind of insulting that everyone reacts about the same way.”

“I don’t want a sandwich,” Cal said. “Are there any tarts left?”

“Plenty—in the breadbox. They may be a little soaky.”

“I like them soaky,” Cal said. He brought the whole plate to the table and set it in front of him.

The nurse looked into the kitchen. “These look good,” she said and took one, bit into it, and talked among her chewings. “Can I phone Krough’s drugstore for the things I need? Where’s the phone? Where do you keep the linen? Where’s the cot you’re going to bring in? Are you through with this paper? Where did you say the phone is?” She took another tart and retired.

Lee asked softly, “Did he speak to you?”

Cal shook his head back and forth as though he couldn’t stop.

“It’s going to be dreadful. But the doctor is right. You can stand anything. We’re wonderful animals that way.”

“I am not.” Cal’s voice was flat and dull. “I can’t stand it. No, I can’t stand it. I won’t be able to. I’ll have to—I’ll have to—”

Lee gripped his wrist fiercely. “Why, you mouse—you nasty cur. With goodness all around you—don’t you dare suggest a thing like that! Why is your sorrow more refined than my sorrow?”

“It’s not sorrow. I told him what I did. I killed my brother. I’m a murderer. He knows it.”

“Did he say it? Tell the truth—did he say it?”

“He didn’t have to. It was in his eyes. He said it with his eyes. There’s nowhere I can go to get away—there’s no place.”