“DUKE SAID, taking Pete’s hand in a firm, dry grip. “You’re looking well.” “Duke,” Pete said. “You too.” Actually, Duke looked the same as he always looked: tall, bald, and pale, his eyes bright and yet somehow dark at the same time, perhaps because the light they held revealed his sarcastic, mocking character. “Eager to revisit the asylum?” he asked. “Alish isn’t here, you said?” “No. He’s traveling to D.C. for the great maggotfest.” “Nice.” He could feel Duke looking him over. “Are you okay, P...ete?” “I’m okay,” Pete said. “Did the Reverend call you?” “He called me.” Duke waited him out, and Pete capitulated. “He told me how proud he was of me and that he wants me to accomplish a few more things here before I go back. He wants photos of our enemies.” Duke clapped him on the back. “I knew you were the man for the job, Pete,” he said. “I’m proud of you, too.” “Thanks.” “Ready to go see Miss Hunter?” “Sure,” Pete said, feigning enthusiasm.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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