He had put the tips of his fingers together, and now he was tapping the nails of one hand against the nails of the other.

And he stared and stared at the face so close to his own--as if it had been the face of a man resurrected from the grave.

Within him there was a feeling of extraordinary physical sickness; it was quickly followed by one of inertia, just as extraordinary.

He felt as if he had been mesmerized; as if he could neither move nor speak.

And Kitely sat there, a hand on his victim's arm, his face sinister and purposeful, close to his.
"Fact!" he murmured.