Murdoch went to him. "Yes, sir. I was just going to get breakfast."
"I can see the light!"
"You—that's wonderful, sir!"
"I can see the light! Dammit, where are you? Take me outside!"
"It's no brighter out there, sir." Murdoch was dismayed. He'd counted on another day before Waverill's sight began to return; with a chance to arrange a broken drinking glass, a knife in Waverill's way, something to bring blood in an apparent accident. Now....
"Take me outside!"
"Yes, sir." Murdoch, his mind spinning, guided the older man.
The door slid open for them and Waverill crowded through. As he stepped on the gravel with his bare feet, he said, "Ouch! Damn it!"
"Step lightly, sir, and it won't hurt." Murdoch had a sudden wild hope that Waverill would cut his feet on a sharp pebble. But there were no sharp pebbles; they were all rounded; and the light gravity made it even more unlikely.
Waverill raised his head and swung it to the side. "I can see spots of light up there."