"Do let me get your wife!" Winn urged again.
"No," said Mr. Bouncing. "Women—not much good—after the first."
"Don't talk any more then, old man," Winn pleaded. "You'll start that bleeding off again."
But Mr. Bouncing made a faint clicking sound that might have been a laugh.
"Too late," he whispered. "Don't matter now. No more risks. Besides, I'm too—too uncomfortable to live."
There were several pauses in the hemorrhage, and at each pause Mr. Bouncing's mind came back to him as clear as glass. He spoke at intervals.
"Not Rivers," he said, fixing Winn's eyes, "Roper—Roper." Then he leaned back on the strong shoulder supporting him. "Glad to go," he murmured. "Life has been—a damned nuisance. I've had—enough of it." Then again, between broken, flying breaths he whispered, "Lonely."
"That's all right," Winn said gently.
"You're not alone now. I've got hold of you."
"No," whispered Mr. Bouncing, "no, I don't think you have."