“Here you are, boy,” Lawson said.

He was scarcely aware that the machine had stopped. The siren died and he heard Rachel sobbing.

“I’m in pain,” she whimpered.

“Come on, boy,” Lawson called.

The car door was opened and he staggered to the sidewalk, sagging under the heavy burden of Rachel. She was still whimpering, her muscles tightening spasmodically.

“You’d better take that woman, Murphy, or he’ll keel over with her,” Lawson said.

“Okay,” Murphy said. “Let her go, boy.”

He felt Murphy taking Rachel from his arms. Panic seized him.

“Naw,” he said, clutching his wife fiercely.

“Turn her loose, or I’ll clip you one,” Murphy said.

He loosened his arms about Rachel; Murphy held her now. He felt lost; as long as he had held her in his arms, he had felt that there was the barest chance that he might elude this shroud of mist that surrounded him. But with Rachel gone, he was lost. . . .

“Think you can handle ’im up there, Murphy?” Lawson asked.

“Sure,” Murphy said. “He’s like a trained puppy. Come on, boy, walk in front of me . . .”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

He led the way uncertainly across the sidewalk. Someone opened a door and he stepped into a shadowy hallway filled with the strong scent of disinfectant. Several white-coated attendants came forward. There was a whir of many voices, but he did not understand what was being said.

“And who is he?” he heard a woman ask.

“Her husband,” Murphy said. “He’s in my custody.”

“You mean he’s under arrest?” the woman shrilled.

“We won’t discuss that, lady,” Murphy said.

“This way,” the woman said.

The next thing he knew he was standing in an elevator, being lifted violently upward. He roused himself and saw Rachel in the arms of Murphy. Two black women dressed in white were looking intently into Rachel’s face and mumbling something to her. He tried to listen, but he could not rouse himself sufficiently.

He took an aimless step through the door and found himself in a brightly lit corridor. The nurses followed Murphy out.

“You may put her down, now,” one of the nurses said.

Carefully, Murphy stood Rachel on her feet and the two nurses took hold of her arms and led her forward through swinging doors.

“Boy,” Murphy said with a tight smile, “you make a lot of trouble, don’t you?”

“No, sir,” he said, abashed with a sense of guilt.

“Sit down,” Murphy said, pointing.

He slid limply upon a bench and Murphy sat beside him. He felt a vague panic which he could not understand, as though something extraordinary was about to happen to him. He looked around. Men and women walked about casually. His tension eased.

“Here: a cigarette.” Murphy offered his pack.

Timidly, he took a cigarette and held it unconsciously in his fingers and did not think to ask for a match or to search for one in his pockets. He saw a yellow flame dancing before his eyes and he drew back in fright.