The last of the Larrity townsfolk exit through the carnival’s gates. Lamps die around the provisional camp as fires rise up near wagons. John sits alone before an unattended flame.
“Now I ain’t taken many women by force, something I’m proud of in relation to opportunities presented, but it’s mainly Varlyn’s watch that’s kept me from such indulgences."
“I prefer honesty to politeness. You wanted to die; I say we should have let you die. I’m guessing by your continued presence here that my decision would have been a mistake.”
John's hands drop to his sides. Boss rises up with his fingers wrapped tight around the hatchet’s handle. “We have a problem?” “That depends."