There was a crisp crash, a blinding light flew up like a circular sunset around him, a dreadful twinge, as of hair and skin and skull being jerked from his head with the strength of a giant! For the millionth part of a second he was at a loss to understand what had happened. Then, with sickening horror, he realised that he had been shot in the head.
It is impossible to convey with what speed impressions rushed through his mind.
The flaring horizon tilted suddenly from horizontal nearly to perpendicular. His head rushed through half a world of black, fury-space. His toes and finger-tips were infinite miles behind. A sound of rushing waters filled his ears, like deathly waterfalls stamping the life from his bursting head. Black blurred figures, nebulous and meaningless, loomed up before his face.
"Hit in the head—you're done for."
"Hit in the head—you're done for."
The inadequate thought chased through his brain.
"What a pity, what a shame; you might have been so happy, later on."
"What a pity, what a shame; you might have been so happy later on."
He was conscious that it was a foolishly futile thought at a supreme moment.
His life seemed pouring out of his head, his vitality was running down as a motor engine, suddenly cut off. He felt death descending upon him with appalling swiftness. Where would the world go to? And what next?