She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. It filled her with indefinable fear. They will claim particular attention hereafter. "Don't fire," cried the latter. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. ” “Yes, shit. “I can survive on my own.
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