” He turned to Depape. He had caught only one word, but it was enough: muerto. It allowed itself to be petted, even arching against his hand, but he only gave it the single caress. “Cuthbert, you first.
The joker was, temporarily, at least, gone. Stanley had absolutely no urge to investigate the source of the scream, but he supposed he would, just the same. The matched set of six-shooters with the dark handles—Dearborn’s guns, surely—were gone. “Oh yes, it seems so,” Cuthbert said, then laughed.
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