A great roar of 'copters sounded out in the afternoon sky, directly overhead. The house shook. Althea sprang up lithely and ran to look out. "I can't talk any more, Cross. I'll call you back. They're outside, waiting for me, now...."
Cross' voice faded like a dream. "Remember what I tell you. Let them go ahead."
Stanley walked to the door, opened it, stepped half through.
A radio voice boomed out of the bright blue sky.
"STANLEY!" it shouted. It was Simpson's voice. "STANLEY! COME OUT AND TALK! COME OUT AND TELL US, STANLEY! STANLEY!"
Althea would not stay in. She walked with him out onto the moist green lawn, in the open.
The heavens were flooded with 'copters whirling. The sun shook in its place. 'Copters hung everywhere, like huge hummingbirds, swiveling, whirring. Five hundred of them, at least, shadowing the lawns and shaking the house-tops.
"OH, THERE YOUR ARE, STANLEY!"
Stanley shaded his eyes. His lips drew away from his teeth in a grimace, as he stared upward, tense and afraid.
"IT'S AFTER THREE O'CLOCK, STANLEY!" came the dull boom of words.