“Willie, go and tell Moira to boil coffee—very strong and lots of it—and now.” “I’m—” Hal began, but broke off, coughing. He’d pressed his fist into his chest and was turning a nasty color that alarmed William. “Is he—” he began. His father turned on him like a tiger. “Now!” he shouted, and as William hurtled from the room, he heard his father call after him, “Get my saddlebags!” The next few hours passed in a blur of activity, with people running to and fro and fetching things and making anxious, stupid suggestions, while Hal sat on the sofa holding Papa’s hand as though it were a rope thrown
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At least they listen to Claire!
