‘What would you do?’
‘Take this thing off my eyes. I can’t see.’
‘You see all you need to.’
‘Barrows. Turn me loose. I won’t do anything to you. I promise. I can do a lot for you, Barrows. I can do anything you want.’
‘It is a moral act to kill a monster,’ said Hip. ‘Tell me something, Gerry. Is it true you can snatch out the whole of a man’s thought just by meeting his eyes?’
‘Let me go. Let me go,’ Gerry whispered.
With the knife at the monster’s throat, with this great house which could be his, with a girl waiting, a girl whose anguish for him he could breathe like ozoned air, Hip Barrows prepared his ethical act.
When the blindfold fell away there was amazement in the strange round eyes, enough and more than enough to drive away hate. Hip dangled the knife. He arranged his thought, side to side, top to bottom. He threw the knife behind him. It clattered on the tiles. The startled eyes followed it, whipped back. The irises were about to spin…
Hip bent close. ‘Go ahead,’ he said softly.
After a long time, Gerry raised his head and met Hip’s eyes again.