Domenik asked. “Oh … judging by the volume of blood, about a day and a half … I don’t know. Two or three minutes, probably.” “And is there any history of this sort of thing in your family?” “Not that I know of.” Christian’s fingertips were sending Morse on the armrest. “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,” Domenik said, “but did you bite your tongue? Or wet yourself?” “Good God, no. No to both.” Christian swung his feet off the desk and stood up. “I fainted, that’s all. I didn’t disintegrate. I’m a fully house-trained adult, remember?” “It crossed my mind that you might be epileptic, and don’t look so damned offended. It happens in the best of households. Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Napoleon, not to mention some of my smartest friends … Anyway, you’re probably not clever enough to be epileptic. Are you worried?” “Why should I be worried?” “It might happen again.” “Yes, of course I’m worried. Last night I woke up every hour on the hour, just to make sure I wasn’t dead, I suppose.
