"Wouldn‘t you like me to read?" sheasked. She was sitting on a canvaschair beside his cot. "There‘s a breezecoming up."
He looked over towhere the huge, filthy birds sat, theirnaked heads sunk in the hunchedfeathers. A fourth planed down, to run.
"You‘re not going to die.""Don‘t be silly. I‘m dying now. Askthose bastards."
˝Maybe the truck will come.˝˝I don‘t give a damn about thetruck.˝
"Wouldn‘t you like me to read?" sheasked. She was sitting on asitting on acanvaschair beside his cot. "There‘s a breezecoming up.""No thanks."