Blood ran down Lennie’s face; one of his eyes was cut and closed.
George slapped him in the face again and again, and still Lennie held on to the closed fist.
Curley was white and shrunken by now, and his struggling had become weak.
He stood crying, his fist lost in Lennie’s paw. George shouted over and over,
“Leggo his hand, Lennie. Leggo. Slim, come help me while the guy got any hand left.”
Suddenly Lennie let go his hold. He crouched cowering against the wall.
“You tol’ me to, George,” he said miserably. Curley sat down on the floor, looking in wonder at his crushed hand.
Slim and Carlson bent over him. Then Slim straightened up and regarded Lennie with horror.
“We got to get him in to a doctor,” he said. “Looks to me like ever’ bone in his han’ is bust.”
“I didn’t wanta,” Lennie cried. “I didn’t wanta hurt him.”
Slim said, “Carlson, you get the candy wagon hitched up. We’ll take ’um into Soledad an’ get ’um fixed up.”
Carlson hurried out. Slim turned to the whimpering Lennie.
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