She was sitting on the bed at his feet.
"Come here."
She took the seat beside him and folded his free hand with both of hers.
"Mother—I want to know what's the matter with me—every bit of it."
"Well, Joe, you've a broken arm and a banged-up head, but you'll be all right."
"And you—are you all right?"
"Perfectly."
"They didn't go in the kitchen?"
"No."
"And the press?"