Yet he waited. “There’s a rock wall at the back,” she said. “Get down here, Clay. For one moment Jonas thought it was Fardo, Cort’s father, in this room with him—that it was the man who had sent him west all those years ago—and he reached for his gun again.
If they lingered here much longer, Roland realized, they would be popped like corn. “It ought to be you or me who talks to him. There was a heaviness in his belly, as if the punch and the soup and the single beef-strip he had eaten for politeness’ sake had all lumped together in his stomach. “I think ye already do.
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