He could remember leaning forward to get his cigarettes off the dashboard and that was when the last skid began and he tried to ride it out but it kept getting worse; he could remember a heavy dull thump and then the world's up and down had swapped places. He had - “ - screamed! And when I heard you screaming, I knew that you would live. Dying men rarely scream. They haven't the energy. I know. I decided I would make you live. So I got some of my pain medication and made you take it. Then you went to sleep. When you woke up and started to scream again, I gave you some more. You ran a fever for awhile, but I knocked that out, too. I gave you Keflex. You had one or two close calls, but that's all over now. I promise.” She got up. And now it's time you rested, Paul. You've got to get your strength back.”

“My legs hurt.”

“Yes, I'm sure they do. In an hour you can have some medication.”

“Now. Please.” It shamed him to beg, but he could not help it. The tide had gone out and the splintered pilings stood bare, jaggedly real, things which could neither be avoided nor dealt with.

“In an hour.” Firmly. She moved toward the door with the spoon and the soup-bowl in one hand.

“Wait!” She turned back, looking at him with ail expression both stern and loving. He did not like the expression. Didn't like it at all.

“Two weeks since you pulled me out?” She looked vague again, and annoyed. He would come to know that her grasp of time was not good. “Something like that.”

“I was unconscious.

“Almost all the time.”

“What did I eat?” She considered him.

“IV,” she said briefly.

“IV?” he said, and she mistook his stunned surprise for ignorance.

“I fed you intravenously,” she said. “Through tubes. That's what those marks on your arms are.” She looked at him with eyes that were suddenly flat and considering. “You owe me your life, Paul. I hope you'll remember that. I hope you'll keep that in mind.” Then she left.