He supposed that strength and feeling would come back into his legs eventually and he would get up, but right now they felt like limp macaroni. The pennants atop the towers flapped like schoolyard flags. The dot on the route-map was still closer to Dasherville than Topeka, but it would reach the halfway point within the next fifteen minutes or so. As he drew it toward him, that flutter came again.
Because neither the stupid jokes nor the easy surface emotions were the truth of Cuthbert Allgood. Only that voice, mocking and just about two steps from laughter; the voice of a cruel little boy watching bugs run around on top of a hot stove. Jammed into the cockpit is the mummified corpse of a giant, almost certainly the half-mythical outlaw David Quick. She could almost taste it in her mouth, like wet tea leaves.
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