The Humvee's windows turned to milk, then fell in. Somehow—inexplicably—he felt. “Don’t worry about it. ' Although his mind-reading ability was fading rapidly as his body beat back the byrus, Owen understood this easily enough; Beaver sent to me, Duddits said.
Quit it, praise Jesus. Now he was. 'Hell, buck, read my fucking mind!' Pearly studied him for a moment and Kurtz could almost feel the man's creepy little fingers (mats of red stuff now growing under each nail) in his head. Same shit, different day, he thinks, but now the joy is gone and the sadness is back, the sadness that feels like something deserved, the price of some not-quite-forgotten betrayal.
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