"Lord God above, you haven't seen anything to be scared of!" He was shouting at her. "Do you know what it's like out there? You can't know. You haven't been outside this valley."
"Harvey, I'm scared." Now why did I say that?
She'd expected him to say something comforting. To be reassuring, as George would be. It would be a lie, but—
She hadn't expected hysterical laughter. She stared as Harvey Randall giggled, bubbled, laughed insanely. "You're scared," he gasped. "Lord God above, you haven't seen anything to be scared of!" He was shouting at her. "Do you know what it's like out there? You can't know. You haven't been outside this valley." Visibly he fought for control of himself. She watched fascinated, as he slowly won the struggle for calm. The laughter died away. Then, amazingly, the stranger was sitting there again, as if he hadn't moved. "Sorry about that," he said. The phrase was flippantly conventional, but it didn't come out that way. It came out as a genuine apology.
