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"
I
'll
watch
him
,
"
Louis
said
.
"
With
pleasure
.
"
Louis
spent
the
evening
reading
and
making
notes
on
a
long
article
in
The
Duquesne
Medical
Digest
;
the
old
controversy
concerning
dissolving
sutures
had
begun
again
.
In
the
small
world
of
those
relatively
few
humans
on
earth
concerned
with
stitching
minor
wounds
,
it
appeared
to
be
as
endless
as
that
old
psychological
squabbling
point
,
nature
versus
nurture
.
He
intended
writing
a
dissenting
letter
this
very
night
,
proving
that
the
writer
's
main
contentions
were
specious
,
his
case
examples
self-serving
,
his
research
almost
criminally
sloppy
.
In
short
,
Louis
was
looking
forward
--
with
high
good
humor
--
to
blowing
the
stupid
fuck
right
off
the
map
.
He
was
hunting
around
in
the
study
bookcase
for
his
copy
of
Troutman
's
Treatment
of
Wounds
when
Rachel
came
halfway
down
the
stairs
.
"
Coming
up
,
Louis
?
"
"
I
'll
be
a
while
.
"
He
glanced
up
at
her
.
"
Everything
all
right
?
"
"
They
're
deep
asleep
,
both
of
them
.
"
Louis
looked
at
her
closely
.
"
Them
,
yeah
.
You
're
not
.
"
"
I
'm
fine
.
Been
reading
.
"
"
You
're
okay
?
Really
?
"
"
Yes
,
"
she
said
and
smiled
.
"
I
love
you
,
Louis
.
"
