CHAPTER 33Wynter said again, “Forgive me.”
And while I stared and stared at him, while I forgave him for being alive when Hereward was not, while I went through the motions, the very real emotions, of welcoming such a friend back from the dead, while he told me his brief, reluctant story, I was remembering all that had gone before, when we had come back to England and Wynter had done so much to help him begin it. Yet through the bombardment of memory and confusion, I was painfully, uneasily aware that something was not right.
Wynter said, “When I saw it was all up, when he jumped in among them, I ran. There was nothing I could do, alone and injured. And ever since then, I have been — ashamed to come back.”
He was sitting on the step that led up to the altar, his shaggy head in one dirty
