What end? Why should there be any end to this eternal moment?
Curtis noticed him now. Those half-closed eyes were strangely penetrating. They looked him through.
"Well, Al," he said, "so you killed Schaughtowl?"
Stern looked at the kindly, godlike face and loved it.
Killed whom?
"Poor Al," Curtis said. He leaned over and laid his hand on the back of Stern's neck, fondling it much as one would a dog. "Poor old Al."
Stern's heart leaped in joy. This was ecstasy. It must be expressed. It demanded expression. If he had possessed a tail, he would have wagged it. Perhaps there was a word for that bliss. There was, and with immense satisfaction he spoke it.
"Gull Lup," he said.
—LUCIUS DANIEL
