“Peter!”
“Look out, Grace. You'll get all covered with this stuff.”
Her eyes, wide, horror-struck, were fastened on his. “Peter—how awful! What is it? What has happened?”
Her solicitude was unexpectedly soothing. His self-respect came creeping back, a thought shamefaced. He even smiled faintly.
“I don't know, Grace, dear. Something happened—out in the street. A fight, I think. I was walking by. Then I was stabbed.”
“Oh—oh!” she moaned, “some dreadful mistake!”
“Isn't it silly!”
“I'll have Neuerman get Doctor Brimmer.”
“No—please—”
But she rushed out. In a moment she was back, with an armful of parcels. “Poor Minna—”