" grew a whole bunch of blisters of their own. I wondered what you called a whole bunch of blisters. I was sorry about lots of things. Most of all I was sorry that I hadn’t noticed what had been happening to Ross, that I hadn’t known. But that was a lie. Of course we’d known. We caused some of it. But ignored it—buried our heads in the sand. I wished so hard that he’d talked to me. Why hadn’t he talked to me? I could have helped—surely I could have done something? But then he might not have wanted to talk to the person who stole his girlfriend. I made it to Kirkcudbright just before six. The road I was on took me right through the center. There was a lot of traffic, people milling about the few scattered shops. I kept my head down and didn’t take much notice of anything except the road signs pointing my way. I think I drew a few stares but pretended not to care. It was even smaller than Dumfries, but also had a bridge over a river on the far side of the town center. There were yachts and fishing boats moored in a tiny marina. I hurried along, wincing a little at my blisters. Out the other side and back on the country roads I felt safer again. I was tempted to take a break, sit on the wide grass verge and catch my breath. But I was worried that if I sat down I might not be able to get up again. I refused to give in. I was going to do what we’d planned to do all along. My rucksack was rubbing my "
― Keith Gray , Ostrich Boys