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behind the mirror sunglasses。
Garraty stepped aside。 He was not alone。 The dark figure was back； up ahead； not far； beckoning。 He knew that figure。 If he could get a little closer； he could make out the features。 Which one hadn't he walked down？ Was it Barkovitch？ Collie Parker？ Percy What'shisname？ Who was it？
〃GARRATY！〃 the crowd screamed deliriously。 〃GARRATY； GARRATY； GARRATY！〃
Was it Scramm？ Gribble？ Davidson？
A hand on his shoulder。 Garraty shook it off impatiently。 The dark figure beckoned； beckoned in the rain； beckoned for him to e and walk； to e and play the game。 And it was time to get started。 There was still so far to walk。
Eyes blind； supplicating hands held out before him as if for alms； Garraty walked toward the dark figure。
And when the hand touched his shoulder again； he somehow found the strength to run。
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