The wine glass moved again, this time more slowly but without intent, moving blindly past letters in the increasing heat.
Red-faced, open-mouthed, they sat silently, the only sounds the scraping of the glass on the board and the increasing rasping of laboured breathing.
DeStiy wiped his face with his free hand, Tisha wiped her brow with her sleeve.
Moments later Danes spoke
"It's getting too hot. We must leave the table. I'm sorry."
As he took his finger from the glass the others did the same. He walked to the window, parted the curtains and stood silently transfixed.