The doctor glanced at Jim Thorne, who stood to the side looking terrified (though in reality, he was looking down, pleased with himself). He didn't have the heart to scold the boy. He was just a kid from the countryside; it must have been an accident. The woman would just have to chalk it up to bad luck.
"Fortunately, it's just your arm. If it were your face or neck, it would be much more troublesome," the doctor said, trying to comfort her.
But Bernice found his words grating. Her usual feigned elegance vanished as she shrieked, "If it were my face, I'd kill this little bastard! Aah... it hurts so much... This little bastard has to go to jail! He did it on purpose! Do you have any idea how important my hands are to me? You know nothing!"
"Please don't kill me... I didn't do it on purpose... Officer, sir, I really didn't mean to... The smell on her was so strong, I couldn't help but sneeze, and then I accidentally spilled the water... ACHOO..."
