With a shaking hand he slopped some whisky into the glass and thrust it at her. “Go on, drink it,” he said. The effort made his head swim.
He heard the glass rattle against her teeth as she drank. Then she got up unsteadily and put the glass on the table. “I’m all right now,” she said.
Duffy said, “Put some dressing on this, and let me lie easy.”
She sat down on the bed. “Would it be safe to get a doctor?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m on the run now, baby.”
She began cutting a pad, biting her lips to stop her tears. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, slightly dazed by the alcohol.
She said, “I’ll fix it with tape.”
Duffy said, “You’re swell.”
With inexperienced hands, she strapped him, making a fair job of it. He lay watching her, and when she was done, he said, “Get me one of Sam’s suits.”
Her eyes opened. “What do you mean?”