For quite a minute he raged silently, and any cuckoo-clock which had
strayed within his reach would have had a bad time of it. Then his
attention was diverted.
So concentrated was Sam on his private vendetta with the clock that no
ordinary happening would have had the power to distract him. What
occurred now was by no means ordinary, and it distracted him like an
electric shock. As he sat on the floor, passing a tender hand over the
egg-shaped bump which had already begun to manifest itself beneath his
hair, something cold and wet touched his face, and paralysed him so
completely both physically and mentally that he did not move a muscle
but just congealed where he sat into a solid block of ice. He felt
vaguely that this was the end. His heart stopped beating and he simply
could not imagine it ever starting again, and, if your heart refuses to
beat, what hope is there for you?
At this moment something heavy and solid struck him squarely in the
chest, rolling him over. Something gurgled asthmatically in the
darkness.
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