"If you thought I tried to kill you night before last why didn't
you set your wolves after me, Bram--as you did those other two
over on the Barren north of Kasba Lake? Why did you wait until
this morning? And where--WHERE in God's name are we going?"
Bram stretched out an arm.
"There!"
It was the one question he answered, and he pointed straight as
the needle of a compass into the north. And then, as if his crude
sense of humor had been touched by the other thing Philip had
asked, he burst into a laugh. It made one shudder to see laughter
in a face like Bram's. It transformed his countenance from mere
ugliness into one of the leering gargoyles carven under the
cornices of ancient buildings. It was this laugh, heard almost at
Bram's elbow, that made Philip suddenly grip hard at a new
understanding--the laugh and the look in Bram's eyes. It set him
throbbing, and filled him all at once with the desire to seize his
companion by his great shoulders and shake speech from his thick
lips. In that moment, even before the laughter had gone from
Bram's face, he thought again of Pelletier.
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