"Isn't it a pity to frighten him?" she said.
"He's no business to be frightened. It's my death. If I can face it, he can. I'm simply making necessary arrangements."
She could see that. At the same time it struck her that he wanted you to see that he exposed himself to all the risks of death, to see how he faced it. She had no patience with that talk about death; that pitiful bolstering up of his romance.
"If McClane says much more you can tell him."
He was counting on this transfer of the ambulances to get credit with
McClane; to silence him.
There were other letters which he had told her to answer. As soon as he had started she went into his room to look for them. If they were not on the chimneypiece they would be in the drawer with his razors and pockethandkerchiefs.
It was John's room, after she had gone through it, that showed her what he was doing.
Sutton looked in before she had finished. She called to him, "Billy, you might come here a minute."
He came in, eyebrows lifted at the inquisition.
"What's up?"