Tuesday, April 10, 2012
"There's a code,"
"There's a code," I heard Sam say, either to me or to
himself, "that won't let you shoot a man in the company
of a woman; but, by thunder, there ain't one to keep you
from killing a woman in the company of a man!"
And, quicker than my mind could follow his argument,
he whipped a Colt's automatic from under his left arm
and pumped six bullets into the body that the brown
dress covered -- the brown dress with the lace collar and
cuffs and the accordion-plaited skirt.
The young person in the dark sack suit, from whose
head and from whose life a woman's glory had been
clipped, laid her head on her arms stretched upon the
table; while people came running to raise Ben Tatum
from the floor in his feminine masquerade that had given
Sam the opportunity to set aside, technically, the obliga-
tions of the code.
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