The Seven Dials
Very slowly Bundle returned to consciousness.
She was aware of a dark, spinning blackness, the centre of which was a violent, throbbing ache. Punctuating this were sounds. A voice that she knew very well saying the same thing over and over again.
The blackness span less violently. The ache was now definitely located as being in Bundle’s own head. And she was sufficiently herself to take an interest in what the voice was saying.
“Darling, darling Bundle. Oh, darling Bundle. She’s dead; I know she’s dead. Oh, my darling. Bundle, darling, darling Bundle. I do love you so. Bundle—darling—darling—”
Bundle lay quite still with her eyes shut. But she was now fully conscious. Bill’s arms held her closely.
“Bundle darling—Oh, dearest, darling Bundle. Oh, my dear love. Oh, Bundle—Bundle. What shall I do? Oh, darling one—my Bundle—my own dearest, sweetest Bundle. Oh, God, what shall I do? I’ve killed her. I’ve killed her.”
Reluctantly—very reluctantly—Bundle spoke.
“No, you haven’t you silly idiot,” she said.
Bill gave a gasp of utter amazement.
“Bundle—you’re alive.”
“Of course I’m alive.”