DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?”Once more the diminished hand went up Roland’s cheek; once more Susannah heard the minute rasp of his fingers against the wiry stubble of his beard. And Susan had done more than just screw Will Dearborn; she’d helped him escape, him and his trail-mates, and she might well have killed two lawmen for him, into the bargain. “Sweet enough,” the old woman said. Before leaving, he and his men had burned Indrie, the Barony seat, pretty much to the ground.
If it rained—Don’t think of that, he told himself. She didn’t dare wake him of her own—all her courage had been exhausted just getting here, creeping through the dark an had grown up with; the one who’d been driven into almost weekly bouts of rage by her phlegmatic, life-goes-as-’twill brother. At the point where the beams cross—at the center of Roland’s world, perhaps the center of all worlds—the gunslinger believes that he and his friends will at last find the Dark Tower.
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