“Walter, I want to thank you,” she said; for now she too had reconsidered.
“So do we all,” Andrew said.
“More than I can say,” Mary finished.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing,” he said. "Now I just want you to know, if there’s anything in the world I can do, be of help in any way, let me please, don’t hesitate to tell me.
“Thank you, Walter. And if there is, we certainly will. Gratefully.”
“Good night then.”
Andrew walked with him to the front door. “Just let me know, Andrew. Anything,” Walter said.
“I will and thank you,” Andrew replied. Their eyes met, and for a moment both were caught in astonishment. He wishes it was me! Andrew thought. He wishes it was himself! Walter thought. Perhaps I do, too, Andrew thought, and once again, as he had felt when he first saw the dead body, he felt absurd, ashamed, guilty almost of cheating, even of murder, in being alive.
“Why Jay, of all people?” Andrew said, in a low voice.
Still watching his splintered eyes, Walter heavily shook his head.
“Good night, Andrew.”
“Good night, Walter.”
He shut the door.
Mary’s father caught her eye; with his chin he beckoned her to a corner of the kitchen. “I want to talk to you alone a minute.” he said in a low voice.
She looked at him thoughtfully, then took her glass from the table, said, “Excuse us a minute,” over her shoulder, and ushered him into the room she had prepared for her husband. She turned on the bedside lamp, quietly closed both doors, and stood looking at him, waiting.
