Wingate wondered what to do or say next. I've sprained my shoulder. My note? Did you say my note? I'd want security, of course. And you stand there and glibly propose to push around, even to torture, me and my kind.
Your model? No, no. In this case they wanted to believe in their old time religion as they learned it at their mothers' knees; it restored security to their hearts. Libby separated himself from the throng and approached with the ease of a veteran long used to free fall. He did not tell me why he was leaving, of course, nor where he was going, but I could fill in.
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