The whole thing had probably been a bad idea; if any of the other snipers 
had seen this, they'd be wanting to get rid
of him, whatever their affiliation. Carl levered in another shell and then let 
the rifle dangle from one hand, pointed down at the street, where it wouldn't 
be so conspicuous. He got the other hand into Spence's armpit and helped him 
continue down the street. The ends of Spence's mustache wiggled as he continued 
with his endless and unflappable line of patter; Carl couldn't hear a word but 
nodded encouragingly. Not even the most literal-minded neo-Victorian could take 
that stiff-upper-lip thing seriously; Carl realized now that it was all done 
with a nod and a wink. It was not Colonel Spence's way of saying that he wasn't 
scared; it was, rather, a code of sorts, a face-saving way for him to admit 
that he was terrified half out of his wits, and for Carl to admit likewise.