Don’t even think about it.Ove’s fingers move weakly; she grabs them with both hands and puts her forehead in the palm of his hand.
I think you’d better calm yourself down, woman,Ove whispers hoarsely.
And then she hits him on the arm again. And then he sees the wisdom of keeping quiet for a while.
But she stays there with his hand in hers and slumps into the chair,
with that mix of agitation, empathy, and sheer terror in those big brown eyes of hers.
At this point he lifts his other hand and strokes her hair.
He has tubes going up his nose and his chest moves strenuously under the covers.
As if his every breath is one long impulse of pain. His words come out wheezing.
You didn’t let those sods bring the ambulance into the residential area, did you?
It takes about forty minutes before any of the nurses finally have the guts to go back into the room.
A few moments later a bespectacled young doctor wearing plastic slippers
who, in Ove’s view, has the distinct appearance of someone with a stick up his ass, comes into the room and stands dozily by the bed.
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