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’
Don
’
t
know
.
’
’
It
was
.
.
.
very
.
.
.
kind
of
you
,
’
she
said
cautiously
.
’
Was
it
?
I
can
’
t
think
what
came
over
me
.
’
He
felt
in
his
pocket
and
produced
the
handkerchief
.
This
belongs
to
you
,
I
think
.
’
’
Thank
you
.
’
She
blew
her
nose
noisily
.
Mort
was
already
well
down
the
corridor
,
his
shoulders
hunched
like
vulture
’
s
wings
.
She
ran
after
him
.
’
I
say
,
’
she
said
.
’
What
?
’
’
I
wanted
to
say
thank
you
.
’
’
It
doesn
’
t
matter
,
’
he
muttered
.
’
It
’
d
just
be
best
if
you
don
’
t
take
books
away
again
.
It
upsets
them
,
or
something
.
’
He
gave
what
he
considered
to
be
a
mirthless
laugh
.
’
Ha
!
’
