his rifle to the old loose carriage and resumed his walk. 9009, immobile, unblinking, watched him approach the end of his beat and then, pivoting, start for the other end, his back turned; instantly he slid out into the luminous space.
He ran, swiftly and silently, on the balls of his feet, his arms half doubled, his chin thrown upon his humped right shoulder, looking backward all the time at the guard upon the wall, who paced along with his back still turned. He covered forty feet—and the guard still walked; fifty, sixty—the guard was slowing up; seventy feet—the guard paused. There in the middle of the walk something, perhaps some cold premonition, had arrested him. His gun flashed; he was turning. Throwing his eyes forward, 9009 leaped in great bounds; the shadow of the dining-hall, sharp as the tape at the end of a race, cut the ground ten feet ahead. He gave a last look backward; the guard whipped around; 9009 plunged head-first, like a frog, and sprawled upon his belly within the darkness which immediately closed about him like water.
