He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. The doctor expected her to seize upon the subtle inference that there was something furtive, even criminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation upon humanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet.
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