’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. . “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him.
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