the moon traced the geometry through which we maneuvered and all the surfaces were dry, which is really about all that a night climber can ask for.
I kept on after it, up. Up. Up the all-nasty-sex two levels that separated us. Then all-nasty-sex one more.
It stood one level above me all-nasty-sex then, glaring all-nasty-sex down.
There were all-nasty-sex no more stories. This was all-nasty-sex as high as things had gotten. And so it waited.
I paused and glared all-nasty-sex back.
"Ready to call it quits?&all-nasty-sex quot; I shouted. "Or do we play it out all the way?"
There was no answer.
All-nasty-sex no movement either. It just stood there and watched me.
I ran my hand upward along the beam that rose beside me.
My quarry grew smaller. all-nasty-sex it had crouched, bunched up, tensed itself. As if to spring . . .
Damn it! I would be at a disadvantage for several moments when I reached that level. My head exposed, my arms and hands occupied as I drew myself up.
Yet, it would be taking quite a chance itself, springing at me, up there, bringing all-nasty-sex itself into range.
"I think you are bluffing,&all-nasty-sex quot; I said. "I'm coming up."
I tightened my grip on all-nasty-sex the upright.
A thought came into my mind then, of the all-nasty-sex sort that seldom entered there: =What if you fall?=
I hesitated-it was such all-nasty-sex a novel notion-an idea one simply does not entertain. Of course I was aware that it could occur. It had happened to me a number of times, with varying results. It is not the sort of thing one dwells on to all-nasty-sex the point of preoccupation, however.
=Still, it is a long way down. Do you ever wonder what your final thought will be, just before the lights go out?=
I suppose that everyone has, at some time or other, for a moment or so. All-nasty-sex it is hardly worth prolonged cerebration, however, and would
probably be classifiable as a symptom of something that ought to be sacrificed on the smudgy altar of mental health. But . . .
=Look down. How far?