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. His death. If it was his death. Bill. The curious behavior of the
management of Golden Rule. Those rolligons and the killers in each. Jefferson
Mao. The muggers at the Raffles- "Is that all?"
"Isn't that enough? No, not quite. What cargo was Auntie carrying? How did
we get chivvied into flying a heap that durn near killed us? What were Lady
Diana and her fat-headed husbands doing away out there in the wilds? If I could
afford it I would spend endless money on sherlocks to dig out what was going on,
what was truly aimed at me, what was just my nerves, what was simply
coincidence."
Harshaw said, "There are no coincidences. One respect in which World as
Myth is far simpler than earlier teleology is the simple fact that there are no
accidents, no coincidences."
Uncle Jock said, "Jubal? I don't have the authority." "And I do. Yes." He
stood up. "Both of us, I think." My uncle stood up, too. "Dickie boy, you wait
right here; we'll be gone five minutes or so. Errand to do."
As they left, Davis stood up, "Excuse, please? Need change arm."
"Sure, Papa Mannie. No, no. Pixel! Beer is not for baby cats."
They were gone seven minutes by my Sonychron. But not, quite apparently, by
their time. Uncle had grown a full beard. Harshaw had a new, pink knife scar
across his left cheek. I looked at them. "Ghosts of Christmas past! What
happened?"
"Everything
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