Her first thrust caught him in the neck. He gave a startled cry and swung round, grabbed her wrist and held it for a moment or two, staring at her. Then he let go and merely went on staring. He muttered something she didn't catch, the music was too loud. That was it! That was the tune in her head, the prelude to madness. It rang over the trampled grass, over the horrified faces of those around her. The second thrust caught him in the side of the throat. He stared at her wide-eyed but made no sound, just clutched his neck with one hand and gazed into her eyes. The blood spurted between his fingers, red as the little plastic fish.