Rodney, don’t let her die,” I said not stuttering but barely coherent I was sure.“She’s not going to die. She’s not, Jim, we won’t allow i.... We won’t,” he said. I nodded and cried some more.“Jim, I’m going to talk to the doctor or somebody for a little bit okay. I’ll be back. And, Jim, you are not alone. You’re not, not ever, my man,” he said. And then he left to do whatever he was going to do.And then I was alone and scared and well, alone. I wasn’t even sure what was going on. I knew my wife. To Neal Court, who can be found these days in the taverns along Broadway between 65th to 80th streets, it might have happened yesterday. His mind still dwells on the nightmare he witnessed, of the wild, excitedly grunting beast and his wife locked nakedly together on the bed, and his own crazed reaction... or of the long, grim trek back from the Manor house, across the moors to the first town, Snowston... or of that first, unnamed pub in which he stopped to collect his thoughts and found that. More

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