I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour before—and it occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty—as if he had just got some poor girl with child.
Tom was more of a possessive than a lover, and on this part it clearly shows the difference between a grieving lover and a dominant persona.
This part was perfectly written. I love it.
