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"
Let
’
s
see
.
"
She
showed
it
to
him
.
Just
above
the
bracelet
of
lines
between
wrist
and
palm
,
there
was
a
small
circular
hole
.
The
flesh
around
it
was
puffing
up
.
"
Are
you
allergic
to
stings
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Think
hard
!
If
you
are
,
Danny
might
be
.
The
fucking
little
bastards
got
him
five
or
six
times
.
"
"
No
,
"
she
said
,
more
calmly
.
"
I
…
I
just
hate
them
,
that
’
s
all
.
Hate
them
.
"
Danny
was
sitting
on
the
foot
of
the
bed
,
holding
his
left
hand
and
looking
at
them
.
His
eyes
,
circled
with
the
white
of
shock
,
looked
at
Jack
reproachfully
.
"
Daddy
,
you
said
you
killed
them
all
.
My
hand
…
it
really
hurts
.
"
"
Let
’
s
see
it
,
doe
…
no
,
I
’
m
not
going
to
touch
it
.
That
would
make
it
hurt
even
more
.
Just
hold
it
out
.
"
He
did
and
Wendy
moaned
.
"
Oh
Danny
…
oh
,
your
poor
hand
!
"
Later
the
doctor
would
count
eleven
separate
stings
.
Now
all
they
saw
was
a
dotting
of
small
holes
,
as
if
his
palm
and
fingers
had
been
sprinkled
with
grains
of
red
pepper
.
The
swelling
was
bad
.
His
hand
had
begun
to
look
like
one
of
those
cartoon
images
where
Bugs
Bunny
or
Daffy
Duck
had
just
slammed
himself
with
a
hammer
.
