"The back of his head!" Katherine echoed.
"It's illegal," Graham said.
"Look!" Bobby cried. "We've got to look!"
Graham tiptoed forward. He stretched out his hand. With a motion of abhorrence he drew it back. Bobby watched him hypnotically, thinking:
"I wanted this. I hated him. I thought of it just before I went to sleep."
Graham reached out again. This time he touched Howells's head. It rolled over on the pillow.
"Good God!" he said.
They stared at the red hole, near the base of the brain, at a fresh crimson splotch, straying beyond the edges of the darker one they had seen that afternoon.
Graham turned away, his hand still outstretched, as if it had touched some poisonous thing and might retain a contamination.
"He was prepared against it," he whispered, "expected it, yet it got him."