"I don't want to be rid of him," she said softly. "I want him with me—at the end."
He bowed. "Thank you, Miss Boyce."
"Call me Cornelia, please."
"And you," he said, "may call me Elmer—a name I permit no one to use—" he bent forward "—but you, now."
Their lips brushed and clung.
"Fine time for love-making," muttered Kemp.
Below them, a flamer squealed suddenly. Sturgis, unknown to them, had lingered behind. Now, a hundred feet down the ridge, he fired a burst at the worm—a warning burst, for the dread feelers hung high above his head on a long, curving tendon of red wetness.
The flamer had an effective range of only thirty feet, but the slimy scarlet rope curved away, dropping off to one side and extending out into the air. The feelers contracted to mere knobs and the end thickened into a club.
A haymaker, drawing back, poised and cocked. Pritchard saw it and howled, "Sturgis! Duck!"
But there was to be no ducking that swing. Sturgis hugged the thin spine of crag and threw up a blossom of fire. But the rope came flailing about, slashing through the flame, and neatly flicked him off.