She shook as with a chill, not answering. Then, peering down into the scanner screen, she fumbled with the calibrated knobs that shifted the scene from plane to plane.
Horning began, "If you'd only tell me what you want—"
"Shut up."
The seconds ticked into minutes. The minutes marched stolidly on. A half hour dragged by. An hour. And still Myrtle spun the registration dials.
Horning shifted, closed his eyes. A haze seemed to rise about him. He was so tired he could hardly stand.
Myrtle said, "Raymond...."
Horning shook away the haze.
His wife's expression was more unfathomable than ever. She stepped closer, and now he saw that she was holding out the pistol, butt-foremost, as if to hand it to him.
He reached up to take the weapon.