A hundred candles danced and blinked before him like so many taunting eyes and turned him dizzy with a sickening nausea.

One by one the lights faded away after that until there was left only the steady glow of the real candle.
The fingers of Howland's right hand were sticky when he drew them away from his head, and he shivered.

The tongue of flame leaping out of the night, the thunderous report, the deluge of fire that had filled his brain, all bore their meaning for him now.

It had been a close call, so close that shivering chills ran up and down his spine as he struggled little by little to lift himself to his knees.

His enemy's shot had grazed his head.