What would I do if he fell? The question leaves my head as quickly as it arrives. Of course, I already know what I’d do. I’d cross the graveyard, round the church, and slip into my favorite phone box across the road. Then, instead of calling the Coast Guard, I’d dial the number I know better than my own, and I’d confess that I’d done nothing to help. Because that’s what compulsive sinners do.
