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Show 67 "That's not very funny." He thought the front of his head was going to burst along the sutures and rotten pulp was going to drop out. It was hard to move while her head was in his lap, but he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wet handkerchief. While he blew his nose into it and mopped up she turned her head and covered the side of her face with both hands. The handkerchief felt full of jelly as he returned it to his pocket. He felt squeamish about sitting on it. "I thought it kind of was," she said. "What?" "Funny." "I'm tired of talking about it," he said. "I think you're mad at me," she said, studying his face upside down. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just pissed off at myself for letting us get into this. I wish I could be tougher." "What do you mean?" "I'm perfectly capable of saying no. I speak English." "You sound like you think I started it," she said. "I don't think anybody starts it. I think we just let it happen." Melanie pushed herself up onto an elbow and crawled over to where she had been sitting before. She sat with her back against the embankment, her arms wrapped around her knees. "What's that all about?" he asked. "I'm not letting anything happen." He could hear the throbbing inside his head as well as feel it, but when the sound and the pain did not synchronize he realized he was hearing feet coming along the trail. They were still a long way off, but he waited until they had gone past before saying anything. He couldn't tell how many |