“She had a voice so husky it could have pulled a dogsled, and the gun she was holding gave me a bad case of barrel envy.”

“It sucked so bad she might as well put a gun to her head and pull the trigger. Except she didn’t own a gun because she didn’t like them. Besides, pulling the trigger on a gun was pretty final. She had issues with commitment and she was so freaking dead anyway, so why bother.”

“Beatrice," she says. "Beatrice, we have to run." She pulls my arm across her shoulders and hauls me to my feet. She is dressed like my mother and she looks like my mother, but she is holding a gun, and the determined look in her eyes is unfamiliar to me.”

“You know how to shoot that thing?" Doubtful merriment danced in Willow's eyes.The landlady's smile was noncommittal as she simply pointed at a small twig on an old lightning-burnt ironwood. "Watch." She hefted the gun, squinted one eye, and pulled the trigger. The twig splintered off to parts unknown. She gave the gun a neat twirl, blew at the smoking barrel, and returned the weapon to her lap. "Close your mouth,dear. You'll gather flies.”

“As I confronted her, the changes grew less apparent to me, her identity stronger. She was there, in the full vigour of her personality, battered but not diminished, looking at me, speaking to me in the husky, breathy voice I remembered so well.”

“She had given him all she had - but what was it compared to the other gifts life held for him? She understood now the case of girls like herself to whom this kind of thing happened. They gave all they had, but their all was not enough; it could not buy more than a few moments...”