Waiting, still the air breathing around me, not a voice, not really. His voice was soft, too, as if he had made his point and wouldn't rub it in. Someone put a cool cloth against my neck. He began speaking in a thin, venomous tone, the words slipping outbetween knife—edge lips; they did not hiss, but they might as well have; he did not scream, but it had thesame shocking effect.
For God's sake she'd done embroidery. I sounded reasonable, ordinary. Old times, like that. , instead of waiting for the rest of his company, and who more than likely wiped up the enemysingle-handed.
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