“Of course I will,” echoed Bill dutifully.
Kirk could not trust himself to speak again. The old sensation of choking had come back to him. The room was a blur.
He caught Bill to him in a grip that made the child cry out, held him for a long minute, then put him gently down and made blindly for the door.
The storm had burst by the time Kirk found himself in the street. The thunder crashed and great spears of lightning flashed across the sky. A few heavy drops heralded the approach of the rain, and before he had reached the corner it was beating down in torrents.
He walked on, raising his face to the storm, finding in it a curious relief. A magical coolness had crept into the air, and with it a strange calm into his troubled mind. He looked back at the scene through which he had passed as at something infinitely remote. He could not realize distinctly what had happened. He was only aware that everything was over, that with a few words he had broken his life into small pieces. Too impatient to unravel the tangled knot, he had cut it, and nothing could mend it now.
“Why?”
The rain had ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The sun was struggling through a mass of thin cloud over the park. The world was full of the drip and rush of water. All that had made the day oppressive and strained nerves to breaking point had gone, leaving peace behind. Kirk felt like one waking from an evil dream.
“Why did it happen?” he asked himself. “What made me do it?”
A distant rumble of thunder answered the question.