“Judenbach. It's past supper time—”
Peter sat up, wobbled. The terrible hands steadied him again. He knew now what had lamed him.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“I was wondering what hit me?”
“Now, you're getting glib again,” said Boylan. Peter's reserve had interposed. His absence had something to do with her, but he could not remember. “Where is she?” had got away from him as he crossed the border back into the racking physical domain. He didn't like that.
“Did I say anything?”
“Nothing that will be used against you,” Boylan observed. “As for what hit you—that's the mystery. Not a scratch in sight.... I was behind. You were standing still as a sentry after that shrapnel. Presently you bowled over—”
“That shrapnel?”
“Yep—”