Roland let himself be held, even putting an arm around her in return. His injured arm was throbbing dully, but he almost welcomed that. It was a pain that he knew how to deal with. Right now, that made it practically a respite.

Tapping ash off his cigarette, he pressed his lips lightly to her temple for a moment and closed his eyes. "Thankee," he said, his voice almost inaudibly low, and turned away again to go back to smoking. After a little while, he said, "Throwing up nails would hurt less and achieve more than this fucking guilt. I kennit. Fault lies in one place," he added meditatively, "with he weak enough to lay blame." He needed to stop being that weakling. So did Bert, although that might take a while.