Throwing up had never been this painful, and I could feel my guts turning over in revolt. Even my drunken brain told me I should be taking better care...of my body, but I had little time to console it; I was too busy vomiting. I couldn’t even catch my breath, so it’s not hard to imagine that I had little chance to pull my hair back after it had broken loose of the bun in my war against my guts. But I felt gentle hands on my neck, pulling my hair back and massaging my back smoothly. One hand. "What's goin on?" asked Burt, stepping away, looking back in wonder atthe prison coach, uncomprehending of how he'd managed to seemingly breakfree from that onrushing fate. The guard and driver withdrew, not evenlooking at him. One of them closed the door in the back of the coach. Theold man still wasn't talking but Burt had never seen the likes of theexpression on his whiskery features."Harry," he said. "Tell me what's what. Ow is it that I'm free?"Harry looked at him with hard eyes and just. More

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