Twenty feet from him, and he takes a quick step back.
Turn, kick, out, step. I am swinging round away from him, let's hope
he finds it reassuring. I dare not look up but I think the light is
dimming. Turn, kick, out, step. Boxing the compass. Coming round
again.
And the cloud is coming over the moon, out of the corner of my eye I
see darkness sweeping towards us--and I see his face of sheer horror
as he sees it, too; he jumps back, swings up the weapon, and fires
straight in my face.
And it is dark. So much for Psychology.