“@page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } One Vollyer came awake just before dawn—and he was blind. A soft, strangled cry bubbled in his throat; he sat up, pawing at his eyes. Darkness, darkness, with light shimmering faintly at the edges, with light flickering a long way off like candles at the end of a long, dark tunnel; but there were no images, no colors, there was only the light and pain, pain hammering behind the swollen lids, pain pulsating at the core of each eyeball.... He shook his head and kept on shaking it, scratching wildly at the mucus-crusted sockets with the tips of his fingers. Di Parma had been sitting on a rock nearby, watching the eastern horizon turn a dusty gray with the approach of dawn, eating the last of the tinned meat with chilled fingers. He came running over to Vollyer and knelt beside him. “Harry, what’s the matter? Jesus, Harry, what is it?” “Get away from me!” Vollyer snapped at him. Control, control, get control of yourself, don’t panic, only the losers panic.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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