Slowly I turned to face the hall and the doorway.
I waited in an agony of suspense.
The great house was as silent as an empty grave, with the pulse of time beating eternally against it: tick, tock; tick, tock; tick, tock.
Gradually I relaxed and let my hand drop, until -- I shrieked and turned -- and raised my hand dripping with blood.
I stared at it like a maniac, and then at the thing it had touched.
| It | Tick tock |
|---|
Wildside Press By the watchman's clock, paperback/brown zenith
