Well, now you mention it, I do feel a little queer. Actually, I couldn't have saved him, even then. The kindest thing would have been to have shot him. If he had called me 'Miss' again, I might have obliged. Blenkins was in a cot, tossing and turning feverishly beneath the straps that secured him.
Pointers are unnecessary.
But nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. Now go make us both a cup of coffee. Sigourney Weaver never had this trouble. We ran around the intersection of corridor B7 and just made it into the Thermal Clothing storage area. I lobbed a hand grenade at the baying mob, and the Doc slammed and bolted the door.