At the other end of the room Toffee plucked urgently at the sleeves of Marc and Mr. Culpepper.
"Why hang around?" she asked, motioning them back toward the bookshelves. "Follow me, men."
The three of them raced back to the aisle from which they had been so rudely ejected only a few moments before. They shoved the ladder to the far wall and hastily climbed toward the window. The window wasn't so accessible as it had been before the pillaging of the end bookcase, but they managed to reach it without too much difficulty.
Outside, the trio found themselves in a dead-end alley which was pleasantly bathed in bright moonlight. They did not tarry, however, to enjoy the scenery. Immediately upon hitting the pavement, Mr. Culpepper streaked out toward the sidewalk, and Marc and Toffee started out after him at a dead run.
Then something happened.
Ahead, they could see Mr. Culpepper skittering swiftly around the corner. Accordingly, it was only logical that they should be in the close vicinity of the little man's flashing heels. But they were not. Their own progress, unlike Mr. Culpepper's, suddenly lacked something in get-up-and-go.
Their steps definitely lagged, and their breath came to them in rasping gasps. As they ran, they turned questioningly to each other. Toffee screamed and stopped dead in her tracks. Marc came to a halt only a few steps distant. They gazed at each other in horror.
All at once, they had become nothing more than a couple of doddering old wrecks. Toffee, no longer a voluptuous young redhead, was now a withered, greyheaded hag. And Marc's transformation was no less startling, his clothes were hanging loosely over a shriveled frame that was noticeably hunched in the back. Both their faces were networked with wrinkles, and their eyes were dull with age. All of a sudden they had become old ... very old.
They stared at each other in silent bewilderment, too stunned to speak.