Karen Memory (Karen Memory, #1)
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Read between September 17 - September 22, 2017
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Anyway, the Marshal came in and I saw Bea and Priya both assemble their sweet, stupid faces in a hurry. What was funny was I saw him noticing them doing it and I saw the sharp little twist of his frown when he did. He got control of it again right quick, and I was left with the strange thought that everybody in that room just then was wearing a mask for the purpose of not upsetting one another. It was a queer thought, and it rightly unsettled me.
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Her hand fell into her lap. She sat for a second and then shuddered. And then sat again. Finally, she looked up at me. “You did this for me.” “I did.” “It was dangerous.” I nodded. “Madame told you not to.” I nodded again. Very calmly, with that same calm she’d shown the first night we met, she took up her mug and sipped at it. When she set it down again, she said, “Why?” Because I love you. I just sat there, mouth hanging open. How do you even answer a question like that? “Because it needed doing,” I said, which was also true and a hell of a lot less frightening.
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Well, Dusty was about the strongest horse I ever rode. I could feel all the muscles moving under me—not bulky, but no yielding in ’em at all. I worrited after her in the dark, on the could-be-slick stones, but I figured the best thing I could do to help was just to hang on, try not to throw her balance, and let her be about her business. Best plan I ever had, letting Dusty take care of me. Pity I can’t talk that mare into doing my tax paperwork.
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We surprise ourselves all our lives, Miss Bethel would say. That is, if our lives is gonna be worth living.
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Above us, a floorboard creaked. I jumped; Merry glanced over her shoulder; Tomoatooah looked up incuriously. He had dropped to his hands and knees and was inspecting the lower parts of the apparatus. Looking, no doubt, for a place to slide his dynamite. So to speak. Or, well, literally and not so to speak at all. Old habits die hard. I’m … mostly sorry. Yeah, I’m trying to avoid telling you what happened next.
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Either a sergeant arrived or a cooler head prevailed, because there were only a few gunshots before the constables seemed to realize they were shooting toward a garden party full of rich folk and quit. First time the bourgeoisie ever did much for me.