By his own calculated and much-postulated design, comedy was Finn's cure-all for tragic circumstances. And when jokes failed him -- rarely -- he resorted to more desperate measures... abject avoidance, for instance.
So far, he'd not sent the door even one glance. What's more, his gaze was curiously devoid of its usual humor as he studied the great dusty tome before him with ferocious intent.
Concern for him crowded out concentration, and my own book lay open before me, ignored.
A cloud of displaced sediment billowed up when he slammed his book closed. "Will I ever fly again?" he croaked, and coughed.
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