going

not looking at his tears. “I reckon Caesare owes you a good bit. We got food here, we have a tub and a fireplace. And good soap. You want, I can row you back to Cannaregio when Benito wakes up, get your things, bring it all back here. Given this hand, I reckon I could help you with the clothes even. You just be damn sure not to waste nothing. That suit you?”
Relief turned his muscles to slush and he sagged back. “More than suits—”
“You’ve got that thinking look again.”
“You get most of your work at night, right?”
She looked more than a little uncomfortable, but nodded.
“We work days. So—if you wanted, we could stay here just long enough for him to get better. Or—hell, half the town’s sick. You could take a note to Ventuccio’s saying we are, and we could even spell you in the daytime that way. Saints! The way I feel right now it wouldn’t even be a lie! I figure Caesare should be getting better in four, five days; a week, tops. We watch for trouble while you’re out, whenever. We can feed him too, make sure he takes the medicine. Keep him from going out when he isn’t ready to.”
The last two