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~::ro私服技能|Jimena Carranza::~

~::ro私服技能|Jimena Carranza::~



                                        When we cried, and made it up, and were so blest again, that the back kitchen, mangle and all, changed to Love's own temple, where we arranged a plan of correspondence through Miss Mills, always to comprehend at least one letter on each side every day!"All Lucky did was collect," the fellow said. "But in those days, Kid Tatters made himself a good bargain. He was never bothered again."


                                        And several false quantities detected —There would be a pause to drop the pilot at the Ambrose Light and then the quadruple screws would whip the sea into cream and the Elizabeth would give a shudder of release and lance off on the long flat arc up from the 4jth to the 5oth parallel and the dot on it that was Southampton.


                                                                              Mathis stared at him aghast. Then he tapped his head and put a calming hand on Bond's arm.Bond looked surreptitiously round the cabin. Yes. There it was! The long Jamaican cutlass, this one filed to an inch blade with a deadly point. It was on a rack by the man's hand. Was this the way he was supposed to go? Bond doubted it. Scaramanga would do the deed in a suitably dramatic fashion and one that could give him an alibi. Second executioner would be Hendriks. Bond looked back over the low coal-tender. Hendriks' eyes, bland and indifferent, met his. Bond shouted above the iron clang of the engine, "Great fun, what?" Hendriks' eyes looked away and back again. Bond stooped so that he could see under the surrey roof. All the other four men were sitting motionless, their eyes also fixed on Bond. Bond waved a cheerful hand. There was no response. So they had been told! Bond was a spy in their midst, and this was his last ride. In mobese, he was "going to be hit." It was an uncomfortable feeling having those ten enemy eyes watching him like ten gun barrels. Bond straightened himself. Now the top half of his body, like the iron "man" in a pistol range, was above the roof of the surrey, and he was looking straight down the flat yellow surface to where Scaramanga sat on his solitary throne, perhaps twenty feet away, with all his body in full view. He also was looking down the little train at Bond-the last mourner in the funeral cortege behind the cadaver that was James Bond. Bond waved a cheery hand and turned back. He opened his coat and got a moment's reassurance from the cool butt of his gun. He felt in his trouser pocket. Three spare magazines. Ah well! He'd take as many of them as he could with him. He flipped down the codriver's seat and sat on it. No point in offering a target until he had to. The Rasta flicked his cigarette over the side and lit another. The engine was driving herself. He leant against the cabin wall and looked at nothing.


                                                                              14 The Great MorassA drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief,



                                                                                                                    ’Twas just discovered that — THE LINES WERE PINDAR’S!”


                                                                                                                    AND INDIA.