Evan Morgan, shifting forward his light, got an impression of something
in the narrow way in front, and suddenly he was taken with the biggest
fit of sneezing he had ever had in his life. He banged down the lamp
and threw up his head till it cracked against the roof, then banged his
chin against the floor, and finally propped himself, like a sick dog, on
his two front paws, and sneezed and sneezed and sneezed for dear life.
Then John Trevna began. He had the sense to lay down his gun, or Morgan
might have got the charge in his back. And so they sneezed in concert,
until their heads were clearer than they had been for many a day. And
the sound of it all to those outside was like the sound of mortal
combat.
Then Morgan, wiping his streaming eyes on the sleeve of his coat, in a
state of extreme exhaustion, caught sight of that which lay just beyond
him, and he saw that it was a man crawling down the tunnel to meet him.
"Shoot, John, shoot! He iss here," he yelled, and laid himself flat to
give Trevna his chance.
And Trevna, between two sneezes, picked up his gun, though he could see
nothing to shoot at, and ran the barrel forward above Morgan's head and
fired, and the roar of it in that confined space came near to deafening
them both.
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