Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson.
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