“It was an accident, Clay,” she pled. “You know Graham's the kindest soul in the world. You know that, Clay.”
“He had been drinking.” His voice sounded cold and strained to his own ears.
“Not much. Almost nothing, Toots says positively.”
“Then I'd rather he had been, Natalie. If he drove that ball out of wanton indifference—”
“He didn't see the boy.”
“He should have looked.”
In her anger she ceased her sibilant whispering, and stood erect.
“I told him you'd be hard,” she said. “He's outside, half-sick with fright, because he is afraid. Afraid of you,” she added, and went out, her silks rustling in the quiet corridor.
She had gone away soon after that, the nurse informed him. And toward dawn Clayton left Audrey in the sick room and found Graham. He was asleep in a chair in the waiting-room, and looked boyish and very tired. Clayton's heart contracted.
He went back to his vigil, and let Graham sleep on.