He lowered his head and kissed her hard on the forehead, then said in a mute voice:
"I'm scared and anxious... You can't reach me on the phone. I didn't even dare to look into my eyes when I flew from Detroit to Paris. You know how horrible the news was, and there were so many people killed, and every time it wasn't completely counted... Right, you were all right, weren't you?"
His eyes, which had not closed for a day and a night, were red. At this moment, he looked at Emmy from head to toe with worry, and saw that she had no injuries except for the gauze wrapped around her left arm.
Emmy allowed him to keep looking at him, his eyes filled with unspeakable tenderness.
"Is the abrasion on your arm serious? Did the bullet penetrate the flesh? How far is it from the bone?"
He raised her injured arm and asked with concern.
"It's not very serious. It's just a scratch on the skin and a little flesh. It's been stitched up."
Emmy said quickly,
