In the foreground, a man gone flabby with fat slumped on his arms at a table, a bottle half full of greenish liquor before him.
A sudden commotion stirred at the far end of the room. The loungers milled and drew back.
Four men in sack-like purple uniforms pushed through the crowd with cold arrogance. Their features had an oriental cast, and they carried drawn swords of strange design.
The first of the quartet came abreast the table in the foreground. Stepping aside, he gestured contemptuously towards the man slumped there.
The other three troopers swaggered up and jerked the man bodily from his chair.
For the first time, Horning saw the sodden man's face.
Again, as in the other worlds, it was his own.
Now, the fat man shook his head blearily, as if trying to blink the haze of drink from his eyes.
The leader of the four uniformed men slapped him savagely, first on one side of the face and then the other.
Horning's coexisting self sagged to his knees.