No, wait, that wasnt quite fair. Knowing that door must lead to the cellar and seeing that there were no locks on it had made the idea of torching the place seem momentarily more rational — he could maybe shelter there. There was a double thud of booted heels, the sound slightly hollow, as he stepped off the parlor carpet and onto the bare boards of the hallway. He shoved the last under the mattress, then leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, where the Ws danced drunkenly across the plaster.
Youll need to work her up.
She brought over the jar of pens and pencils and slammed them down on the board and he thought: Goddam! She was taking extravagant care of him, changing the bandages on his weeping stump every eight hours (and at first, she had informed him with the air of one who knows she will never get a medal for what she has done — although she deserves one — she had done it every four hours), giving him sponge baths and alcohol rubs — as if to deny what she had done.