And there they stood, swaying slightly, their eyes, their wills fastened together in conflict over the simple stake of life and of death. They defied each other—against the pale-blue heat of the evening sky. A murmur came up from the street, a muddled sob, as the watchers noted the change of position, the new precariousness, and sensed the imminence of climax. The sound boiled and grew and beat the bricks all the way up from the infested thoroughfare.
"Half a minute," Dave said, above the susurration.
I couldn't move.
Paul couldn't tear away his eyes from Dave: each instant stood alone and almost still.
"Ten seconds," Dave said. And he turned around—facing nothing—to jump.
A great cry escaped Paul.
He toppled on the terrace—and passed out.
Dave about-faced and stepped down lightly.
11
It was twenty-one o'clock, which is to say, nine that evening.