“We have something you want,” Roland said, “but the only reward you offer if we give it to you is death. Next came one of Susan’s split riding skirts. Avery retired (and, he sometimes told his wife, Judy, a better one than Fatso had ever dreamed of being). Shoot me, Roland, before I breed.
Now this old woman was looking at her with flat and naked hatred. That night the Cöos slept soundly for the first time in a week, and when she took the glass ball into her arms the following morning, its mists cleared for her at once. Three deputies with a distinctly farmerish look about them, dressed in khaki like the Sheriff, crowded into the door behind Avery and gawked. “Yes,” Roland said sadly.
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