"You should have got it out of your system, Seton, but now it's still in there. I can't turn you out and have it erupt later—and maybe shed clean innocent blood, can I?"
"No, sir," Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. "I'm sorry I punked out."
"Give him the treatment," the doctor said wearily. "And send him back to his mother."
Wayne nodded and they led him away. His mind screamed still to split open some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But there was no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and his poker-playing pals.
They had all punked out.
Like him.