What are you doing?’ Quick Ben demanded.
‘Contemplating.’
‘Contemplating,’ Quick Ben mimed, head wagging from side to side in time with each syllable.
‘I could cut your throat with this. One swipe.’
‘We never did get along, did we? Gods, I can’t believe how we hugged and slapped each other on the back, down at that river—’
‘Stream.’
‘Watering hole.’
‘Spring.’
‘Will you please cut my throat now, Hedge?’
— Nov 07, 2013 01:29AM
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