That should prevent any serious attempts at civil war in Relarch. He dug in his jacket pocket for the twine his grandfather had been using that morning to teach him Snakes and Ladders. The dog had a shaggy gray-brown coat-some sort of a terrier mix, Kit guessed-and he suspected that the matted, wiry hair hid prominent ribs. Even belted, Adam is thrown sideways, his head whipping left and right, a rag doll, the crack and snap of vertebrae lost in the explosion of steel and glass. Never braking, just plowing into the Firebird. Payne saying, fine with him, the water looking cold as steel. Or what distraction she might have found on any one of those sixteen blocks you let her walk alone.
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