"That's right. Go on!"
"Fih——jih——" The squeaking stopped.
"Come over to me, John. Come to me, boy."
He held his breath. The beating of his heart was so loud he couldn't be sure that John was moving. The silence was long. Even the rat was blind in this blackness. He must be patient.
Sweat began oozing and trickling down his face, his armpits, his back—even his left leg. No, wait! That wasn't sweat!
he throbbing in his legs was greatest at his left knee. The trickle was blood from the gash. It ran freely, now, the ropes backing up arterial pressure. Never mind that!
"John!"
The coffee can tipped over, and the racket made Neff start against his bonds. The rope sawed his Adam's apple.