"Oh good Lord!" whispered Mussdorf.
Before his eyes little Gunn stiffened in intolerable agony, straight up, rigid. He hung that way for one long instant, immobile.
Then Gunn—disappeared.
Mussdorf blinked, and looked. The little pickpocket had been right before him an instant ago. Now where he had been was nothing but those pulsing ribbons on cobalt, pounding, beating, throbbing.
He's gone right in front of my eyes, Mussdorf thought. Evaporated. Into thin air. No, not into air. Into that blue color. It just absorbed him, like a blotter sops up ink!
Mussdorf knew cold fright, shuddering.
