“It's Mrs. Rosenfeld. She says she wants to see you.”
He went down the stairs. Mrs. Rosenfeld was standing in the lower hall, a shawl about her shoulders. Her face was white and drawn above it.
“I've had word to go to the hospital,” she said. “I thought maybe you'd go with me. It seems as if I can't stand it alone. Oh, Johnny, Johnny!”
“Where's Palmer?” K. demanded of Christine.
“He's not in yet.”
“Are you afraid to stay in the house alone?”
“No; please go.”
He ran up the staircase to his room and flung on some clothing. In the lower hall, Mrs. Rosenfeld's sobs had become low moans; Christine stood helplessly over her.
“I am terribly sorry,” she said—“terribly sorry! When I think whose fault all this is!”
Mrs. Rosenfeld put out a work-hardened hand and caught Christine's fingers.