"Hurtling in toward us at ever increasing speed. When it hits--"
Jim looked at his brother with complete understanding at last. "When it
hits--we won't be here any more."
"That's right. A quick, easy death for the world--from the bullet fired
by the Last Gentleman."
They turned back toward the house. "Shall I tell Myra," Jim asked.
"What do you think you should do?"
"No--no, we won't tell her. We've got ten hours."
"Yes--we've got ten hours."
"Let's go home and have some coffee."