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- Her finger was less than an inch away and he couldn't tell if her nail was still extended. Now she pressed her finger against his eyeball.
- Modo let out an anguished grunt. “Stop! Don't! No!” He spat the words. Would his eye break open? He thought of an egg leaking yolk. “Please! Please! I'll tell you anything.”
- “How do you communicate with these clients of yours?”
- “As I said, by letter.”
- “When do you next expect them to contact you?” With each word she increased the pressure on his eye.
- “Ahhh! Tomorrow. Tomorrow! A letter will be waiting for me.”
- “Where?”
- “The . . . the Red Horn. Room-ahhh-three.” He was surprised how well he could lie, even with pain clouding his mind. “Please, don't. My eye. My eye!”
- “It is a beautiful eye,” she said, “It would be a shame to have to blind it.” (Slade, 82-83)
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