He did as instructed, and silenced himself. As they neared the bed, he raised his free hand to loosen his ascot. It was soaked through with sweat---not the most attractive of sights, he imagined---and he let it drop to the floor. His boots, unlaced as he had been lacing them when he collapsed, slipped off his feet as well, leaving a trail of ascot, left boot, right boot from the door to his room.

And there he was. Without his shoes, he had no real way to run anymore, and that was all he knew how to do; run away. Now, he was trapped in a world he didn't truly understand, with no shoes and no direction.

At least she was not abandoning him.