"What was I supposed to do? Just let him say things like that? I can't sit there and listen to people say shit like that, it turns my stomach, it sickens me. It makes me physically ill. And people sitting by and listening to that kind of thing and not saying anything about it never helps. Those kind of people think they can get away with anything, anything at all."
He can't sit down, as much as he'd like to sit beside Ned and maybe apologize to him and get him a napkin or a handkerchief or something to staunch the bleeding from his nose, but he's still antsy and practically shaking as he paces back and forth in front of the bench, barely even noticing how badly his eye is throbbing. His shaking, though, is different from Ned's. It's pure adrenaline and fury that's coursing through him, self-righteous anger, the kind that fuels him to confront people like that, and what Ned's feeling seems to be much more like panic.
It's realization that that finally makes him stop pacing, makes him sit down next to Ned -- not too close, in case Ned's angry at him -- and take a deep breath, too. "I'm sorry."
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He can't sit down, as much as he'd like to sit beside Ned and maybe apologize to him and get him a napkin or a handkerchief or something to staunch the bleeding from his nose, but he's still antsy and practically shaking as he paces back and forth in front of the bench, barely even noticing how badly his eye is throbbing. His shaking, though, is different from Ned's. It's pure adrenaline and fury that's coursing through him, self-righteous anger, the kind that fuels him to confront people like that, and what Ned's feeling seems to be much more like panic.
It's realization that that finally makes him stop pacing, makes him sit down next to Ned -- not too close, in case Ned's angry at him -- and take a deep breath, too. "I'm sorry."