"Don't know how long I can keep connection--with voice.
"Was fool to shoot.

Sorry--might have gotten you in worse trouble--but crazy with fear for Ruth--thought, too, might be worth chance.
Sorry--not my usual line--" The thin thread of sound ceased.

I felt my eyes fill with tears; it was like Ventnor to flay himself like this for what he thought stupidity, like him to make this effort to admit his supposed fault and crave forgiveness--as like him as that mad attack upon the flaming Disk in its own temple, surrounded by its ministers, had been so bafflingly unlike his usual cool, collected self.
"Martin," I called, bending closer, "it's nothing, old friend.

No one blames you.

Try to rouse yourself." "Dear," it was Ruth, passionately tender, "it's me.