Dave offered the gunslinger a nervous, half-embarrassed smile. But if a cow or sheep does happen to get in—after the burning and before the next year’s pile has started to grow, mayhap—it doesn’t come back out. He knows something else as well: he is being tormented by thoughts of Jake, the boy who, dying, spoke of other worlds. He pitched forward onto the grass of the Drop, his left hand clutching his right armpit, grimacing with pain.
Mayhap it’s ka, girl, her father’s voice whispered. He had underestimated these boys at meat; if nothing else was clear, that was. I’m sorry, Miss Delgado. Roland nodded.
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