She knew Zwey would go to work and get money for her if she asked him to. Ought don't count for as much as a gnat, when you're talking about love, Clara said. Call was still standing in the street, getting his breath. If he could just manage to get a good jump, somehow, he might get away.
He had only really outmaneuvered one, a little redheaded whore in Cheyenne who was all heart and no brain. She almost hoped he would. Finally Call let the man drop, though he turned with a black, wild look and started for whoever had roped him, not realizing who the man was. She was carrying a red rooster for some reason.
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