Ned is more than happy to comply. The main challenge is to walk out of the museum, rather than run out full-tilt like a criminal fleeing the scene of the crime. He pinches his nose very gingerly as they walk, because the blood is still coming fast. Ned doesn't say anything to Ginsberg, doesn't look from side to side though he can feel the eyes of everyone fixing on them as they make their way through the various rooms and out into the cold October sunlight.

Once they are outside he takes a deep breath, hadn't realized he'd barely been breathing when they were making their way out. But even that gasp doesn't seem to get enough oxygen into him, so he takes another. Again, insufficient. Ned knows this feeling, the creeping tightness in his chest, the spinning in his head. Now that they're out in the open and, he thinks, safe now, his whole body starts to shake. There's a wooden bench nearby, unoccupied, and he makes a beeline for it, getting there just as his knees give out.

"You shouldn't have d-done that," Ned says, and it's unusually frank and confrontational, for him, but there's still too much adrenaline in his blood and he feels sick to his stomach.