LINESMEN
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stretched out the fingers of the hand on the table. Steadily he lowered the knife until it was pressing on his little finger. “Um!” he shouted. Blood spurted out. The spectators rose from their seats as one man.
The finger had rolled over on the table. The lecturer swooned face downwards on the blood-stained table.
Tokimoto blanched and made his way outside. The conversation that had leaked to his ears on that platform of the test pole, four or five days ago—now how vividly had that deal in fingers been enacted before his eyes.
He could not keep his body from trembling with the excitement and indignation.
