dropped out； two of them
the class of the act； but of course it didn't matter much because he had been
informed by then that he would be dropping out himself。
Yet somehow he had stayed off the bottle； and he supposed that was something。
And he had not hated George Hatfield。 He was sure of that。 He had not acted
but had been acted upon。
You hate me because you know 。。。
But he had known nothing。 Nothing。 He would swear that before the Throne of
Almighty God； just as he would swear that he had set the timer ahead no more
than a minute。 And not out of hate but out of pity。
Two wasps were crawling sluggishly about on the roof beside the hole in the
flashing。
He watched them until they spread their aerodynamically unsound but strangely
efficient wings and lumbered off into the October sunshine； perchance to sting
someone else。 God had seen fit to give them stingers and Jack supposed they had
to use them on somebody。
How long had he been sitting there； looking at that hole with its unpleasant
surprise down inside； raking over old coals？ He looked at his watch。 Almost half
an hour。