Knox looked up at Stanton, his coated look immediately supplanted by something steelier. Assuming you truly love Lydia, Charles, you’ll secure her memory. She would detest being tattled about. You realize that.
You think I wont tell anybody . . .
Nobody would trust you on the off chance that you did. Knox began to ascend from the floor, gradually and intentionally, watching him. Youve previously made your bed, Charles. You should leave Lydia in hers. Nobody will take your statement against mine, child. Not after how youve acted, hounding my girl throughout the long term. Not after you previously felt free to assume the fault. Stanton almost passed out from outrage.
He was on him, riding him, his knuckles becoming as ridiculous as the old monitors face. Again and again, beating that debilitated, priggish smile. Needing to make those dim eyes space out for eternity. Knox was passing itselfhed obliterated everything great on the planet.
Herbert Knox would have met his producer that day, had it not been for the maid, Mrs. Talley, running in and shouting. Her hollering drew different workers, who pulled Stanton off the swollen and wicked wreck Knox had become.
Stanton was hurling, crying, shaking. The workers gazed at him in awe and frightfulness, and he was ultimately hauled home to his granddad in a shroud of dread and disgrace.
He was left in his bed for hoursmaybe days. His granddad didnt come to him by any stretch of the imagination. Neither did his mom. Nobody came. He contemplated whether possibly he, Stanton, had passed on, and was trapped in a sort of limbo, a world characterized by the edges of his bed and the limits of erratic, horrendous rest. Outside his window, a snowstorm seethed.
At long last, morning unfolded, and his granddad called him into his office. Stanton understood his entire body achedfrom the battle, no question. There were scabs on the backs of his hands.
Would his granddad whip him? Beat him inside his very own inch life? Send him out into the roads? He couldnt understand the numerous manners by which Mr. Knox may attempt to destroy his life now, what kind of discipline he may devise.
He heard his mom sobbing in her room, the entryway solidly locked. He didnt fault her. She was frail to help him.
Cautiously, he pushed open his granddads concentrate on entryway with a squeak.
His granddad said only gestured for him to sit down. The room felt frightfully silentthe snow had calmed the entire world.
What occurred next amazed Stanton.
It appeared, as indicated by his granddad, that Herbert Knox had shown compassion for the pain stricken kid. His granddad delivered a letter in a fat envelope. The amount of cash inside it made Stanton rock in reverse in his seat.
This, his granddad clarified, is to assist you with beginning once again, to make another life for yourself. Kindness of the Knox family. He stopped. Depending on the prerequisite that you stay away forever.
Stanton was frozen. He didnt need Knoxs cash. He didnt need his purported noble cause, the amount of which was so incredible it appeared to be obvious proof of Knoxs responsibility. It was quiet cash. Stanton wasnt a kid; he could see that.
Take it, kid, his granddad said. You are presently not wanted here.
Stanton might not have been a kid, yet, he was youthful. If he had another decision, he didnt know it. In case there was a way of making things right, to uncover reality, he didnt see it.
The wad of cash gazed up at him. How is it possible that he would have realized that one day Knox would need it backlong after it had been spent?
How is it possible that he would have predicted the numerous waysand numerous womenhe could look to overwhelm the recollections of this time? Who could say in case there was a particular point where Stantons honesty in Lydias passing as of now not made a difference, became subsumed in every one of the missteps, and issues, that were to follow . . .
Perhaps he was nave, then, at that point. Perhaps he was a youngster.
He couldnt make it ideal for Lydia, couldn’t bring her equity or harmony. Also, neither could he keep on living around here, nearby to the one who had sold out her trust and love. He would go distraught or one day kill Knox, or both.
There was nothing he could do, it appeared, however take the cash and leave.
A genuine legend would have realized what to do, surelywould not have constructed for what seems like forever on an establishment of decay and culpability and ghastliness.