“Sure, sure.” Barkovitch’s hand tightened convulsively on Garraty’s sleeve, pulling it like the emergency-stop cord on a bus. “I’ll send her enough bread to keep her in clover the rest of her life. I just wanted to tell you… make you see… a guy’s got to have some friends… a guy’s got to have a crowd, you know? Who wants to die hated, if you got to die, that’s the way I look at it. I… I…” “Sure, right.” Garraty began to drop back, feeling like a coward, still hating Barkovitch but somehow feeling sorry for him at the same time. “Thanks a lot.” It was the touch of human in Barkovitch that scared
...more
