In any other circumstance, Lambert would probably make excessive fun of Childermass for comforting a simulacrum of his younger self -- he's not even real, he's had worse, what do you think that's going to change? -- but his attention's all on the woman, who's now attending to her injured, seething husband. There's a brief impulse to say damn the story and gut this far too true to life version of his father just for the satisfaction he never got, but that's just as useless as Childermass comforting little Lambert over there, isn't it?

Little Lambert who cringes back away from Childermass's approach, gaze darting between him and the handkerchief in the man's hand like he half-expects it to burst into flame. He's not the only one looking nervous, though; his mother is also sneaking looks at them, though she knows better than to question her husband, who's still uttering curses as he heavily sits himself down and lets his wife tend to him.

At the lack of any overt violence forthcoming, the boy hesitantly extends a hand ... then yanks the handkerchief from Childermass's fingers like he's afraid doing it any slower would mean the magician might change his mind. Red blooms across the cloth as he holds it to his face, but there isn't really any need to shush him -- he's already as quiet as he can be while breathing shallowly through his mouth.