The exhaust fumes come pouring out of the garage in a dense cloud, covering half of the parking area in a thick, noxious mist.
I... you have to bloo— you have to watch out when the door’s being opened...Ove manages to say.
What are you doing?the Pregnant One manages to bite back at him,
while watching the Saab with its engine idling and the exhaust spewing out of the mouth of the plastic tube on the floor.
Me?... nothing,says Ove indignantly, looking as if he’d prefer to shut the garage door again.
Thick red drops are forming in her nostrils. She covers her face with one hand and waves at him with the other.
I need a lift to the hospital,she says, tilting her head back.
Ove looks skeptical. “What the hell? Pull yourself together. It’s just a nosebleed.”
She swears in something Ove assumes is Farsi and clamps the bridge of her nose hard between her thumb and index finger.
Then she shakes her head impatiently, dripping blood all over her jacket.
“Not because of the nosebleed!” Ove’s a bit puzzled by that.
Puts his hands in his pockets. “No, no. Well then.” She groans. “Patrick fell off the ladder.”
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