"But why do you want to jump?" asked the policeman, pleadingly. "You've got everything to live for, a lovely wife and family. You've got a great future ahead of you. Outside the door stood the men in white, ready to cart him off to the asylum.
"My wife doesn't love me!" he cried. "She doesn't love me!"
"But I do, Ronnie, I do!" sobbed his distraught wife. "I love you very much!"
"My wife doesn't love me!" he said again, as if he hadn't heard her.
Margaret thought of her children. She loved them, too. But she also loved her husband. She had always loved him. Why wouldn't he believe her?
But at last he had calmed down.
"I don't think I want to jump after all," he murmured. "I - I'm scared! Margaret, I'll fall!"
"I'll come out and help you come in," said Margaret.
"No!" said the policeman, but he couldn't stop her. In a moment she was with him on the ledge, guiding him back to the window.
"That's it, Ronnie. Come on. I do love you," she repeated to him softly as they edged towards the window.
Suddenly she felt something beside her foot. It was another foot, tripping her. Then she was hurtling down, down, down into the crowded street below. The crowd screamed as she fell amongst them, dashing herself against the hard road, a messy pulp of flesh, bones, torn clothes and blood.
When Ron was through the window, he fell to the floor, weeping. "I killed her. I killed her!"
"No, no!" said the policeman, his eyes lowered. "She fell. It was an accident."
"I killed her. I killed her because she - she didn't love me."
And they took him away to the asylum.