The fever came back. His mind wandered away.
He was walking in the open air. He walked from Nineshime to Venus, down Venus to Windopole, up Windopole to "The Grand Eagle and Barrel." He went in. Hertha came with him and sat down by his side at the bar.
The bartender looked at him oddly. "She with you, Mac?"
He turned to look at her; her dumb, brown eyes met his. He wanted to snarl: "Get the hell away! Leave me alone!" But he choked back the words. It was not Hertha he was angry with. She had done him no injury. She had merely followed him, perhaps because she knew of nothing else to do; perhaps because of temporary gratitude for the coins; perhaps in hope that he would buy her a drink. When the anger passed, he felt sorry for her again.
He said, "Want a drink?"
She shook her head without changing expression.
He looked at her and shrugged and thought that after a while she would get tired and go away. He ordered, and the bartender brought a bottle and one glass.
Hertha continued to stare at him; he tried to ignore her.
He drank. He thought it would get easier to ignore her as the level of the bottle fell. It didn't. He drank some more. It grew late.