"Yeah. You wash your hands of it. Just like that guy in the whuddayacall...."
"Bible," said Charlie Jingle.
"Yeah," said Tanker. The bell sounded and he sprang to his feet.
At the end of the twenty-eighth, Tanker was dragging his feet, hanging on by a thread of will, except of course that there was no will in a fighting machine except the mechanistic desire to be a great fighting-machine.
"He'll nail you this one," said Charlie Jingle.
"Thass what you think," challenged Tanker.
"That's what I know. The fans are already going to the windows to collect their bets."
"Yeah? They got another guess com—Why ain't you collectin'?"
"I gotta stick it out, you know that!"