~ ~ ~



Zan got close to where the man stood. Was it on a platform? or in the back of an open car not unlike that in which the man’s brother had been shot? In any case, what Zan never forgot was the pain burning in the man’s gaze and the ecstasy — like he was Joan of Arc — of a crowd so increasingly unhinged that it wouldn’t have surprised Zan, wouldn’t have surprised anyone, had anyone told him or everyone else at that moment that within the month the man would be as dead as his brother.


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