He had the knife at my throat, why didn't he kill me? He switched the blade, drove it into my shoulder. God, I did not need someone else's nightmares. I thought about it and had to agree. They tended to squawk if you didn't carry them upright and carefully.
I had to look away. Graham had carried it and put it where I said to put it. Not what, Primo, who, I said, and I reached the hand he'd wounded out to him. He bowed his head toward mine.
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