Bertrand stood on the threshold of his bedroom and stared at his sleeping wife, trying to convince himself that he was justified in his actions. He was trying to protect her, after all. She was his most valuable possession. He kept telling himself things such as "You have no other choice" and "Anyone else would do the same thing in your position," yet he couldn't bring himself to believe any of it. At the end of his long, dreary day, when the sun had long been down, and the moon was hidden behind the clouds, all he could think was, "You're a horrible person. You're just like Olaf." He knew what he would have to do if he defied Olaf, though: he would have to run away-he and Beatrice would have to hide. He just wasn't ready for that drastic a move yet.

He considered waking Beatrice so he would have someone to talk to, but he decided he had better let her sleep. After all, the sight of Lemony's obituary in the paper must have been an awful blow to her. He felt guiltier than ever as he considered the false obituary. He wondered how he could had done that to his poor wife in the first place, but he could come up with no answer that satisfied him. He knew in his heart it was simply because he was selfish. He thought he deserved all her love, and that she shouldn't think about anyone else. He had felt it necessary to call The Daily Punctilio. He couldn't wake her now. She deserved the rest.

As he lay on his bed and thought about his evening, the silence of his house began to pound in his ears. He kept hearing sounds outside that weren't really there at all: voices, whispers in the dark, taps on the window. All he had done was deliver a copy of the last VFD meeting's notes to Olaf, yet he felt as though he had murdered someone very close to him. He had betrayed VFD, his oldest, closest friend. His relationship would never be the same with any of his fellow members now that he had done this deed. Though it seemed so small to him, he knew it was a big step. He knew in his mind that Olaf would give him worse and worse tasks, first playing on his desire to protect his wife, then on his guilt. Soon he would be just like Olaf himself.

He had to do something. He had to get out, and fast. He would tell Beatrice the news the next morning, and if she asked questions, he would refuse to answer-he couldn't trouble her with the details-at least until they were far away. It was decided. He would begin packing first thing in the morning. They would be off in no less than a week.