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THE SHAPE WAS A MAN. WILL GRASPED HIS LEFT ARM AND TRIED TO HAUL HIM UP ONTO THE RIVERBANK. THE BALD HEAD, THROWN BACK, TRAILED GRAY, WISPY STRAGGLES OF HAIR. THE DEAD MOUTH HUNG OPEN, A BLACK GAP IN THE PALE BLUR OF FACE, AND THE EYES SEEMED TO BE OPEN TOO. EVEN IN THE DARKNESS I KNEW THAT TERRIBLE FACE, FOR I HAD SEEN IT EARLIER THAT DAY AS IT WRITHED IN ANGER. IT WAS THE FACE OF OLD FARMER SPEIGHT, AND HE WAS DEAD.