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Show 16 But would Anne still have him, blind, he wondered. Would she agree to strap herself down with that? God, she'd strapped herself'with so much. A mad mother's sudden and strange death. A vanishing father. A man-husband that she did not really know. An overweight religion. No. No, and if she said yes, it would still be wrong. He could not ask her to have him blind. Take me. Take a blind artist. No. It was necessary that he leave them both independence. They had talked of that. Shared autonomy. No. Hunt went back in. "Hunt is that you stumbling around upstairs?" "Yes." "Hunt -- Jesus Christ! Open your eyes!" Hunt had never seen a blind man hitch-hiking. It was dangerous, he knew. You had to scrape your feet to feel the edge of the road, listen hard for cars But with his wallet and his checkbook in his pocket he stood out on the state highway with his thumb out. He wore a blue suit with a turtleneck underneath. And an overcoat. He checked his suitpants each time a car went by. They sprayed slush. But he seemed far enough back. With luck, he'd get to Boston by three o'clock, he thought. To the Mass General by at least four. Somebody there on the emergency ward would know more than these country doctors, he was sure. Did they have emergency psychiatric help? Besides, he was doing it by himself. |