And with that the anger drained out of Winter. He was done with this. The hit was finished. As he looked up at Molly he was thinking of Nelson. He was thinking of Nelson murmuring “. . . love . . . love . . .” into the gathering dark. Winter had his vengeance now, but there was no joy in it.
I didn’t get this, what Nelson was referring to with those last two words: love, love.
