Then soundless, empty blackness.
XXXVIII
"Is he conscious? We'd better take him back: get his helmet off."
"It's over. We can get back to the camp now. Venza dear, we've won—it's over."
"He hears us!"
"Gregg!"
"He hears us. He'll be all right!"
I opened my eyes, I lay on the rocks. Over my helmet, other helmets were peering, and faint, familiar voices mingled with the roaring in my ears.
"—back to the camp and get his helmet off."