Raymond Winslow’s bedroom.

I told myself the sick man would not mind, that a man in his state would not even know, that the quiet dimness of his room might soothe a crying baby better than my own cramped quarters had.

I stepped inside, jiggling Theodore gently on my hip, and I had no idea, none at all, that I was walking into the moment that would divide my whole life into a before and an after.

Chapter 3 — The Man Given Up for Dead