We watched Mr. Lynch get into his car that afternoon, and, in fact, he did pause for a while after he squeezed himself behind the wheel, but I had seen him do that before. He’s just extremely out of shape and he fiddles with the radio for a minute to catch his breath before he straps on his seatbelt, because reaching over his shoulder is a big workout for him. But in Marian’s mind, Mr. Lynch wasn’t catching his breath at all. "He’s contemplating the Harvest of his Cowardice!" she said.

The harvest of his cowardice? I mean, please.