"Y'would? Well, it's yours, then. An' how about them-there salt-cellars,
an' that-there knife-box?"
Rand wandered back to examining firearms. Eventually, after buying the
knife-box, Karen got rid of the man with the antiques. When he had gone,
she found a pack of cigarettes, offered it to Rand and lit one for
herself.
"Well, now you see why girls leave home and start antique shops," she
said. "Never a dull moment.... Wasn't that sword the awfullest thing you
ever saw, though?"
"Well, one of the ten awfullest," Rand conceded. "I just stopped in to
give you some good news. You won't need to consider that offer of Arnold
Rivers's, any more. He is no longer interested in the Fleming
collection."
"He isn't?" An eager, happy light danced up in her eyes. "You saw him
again this morning? What did he say?"
"He didn't say anything. He isn't talking any more, either. Fact is, he
isn't even breathing any more."
"He.... You mean he's dead?" She was surprised, even shocked. The shock
was probably a concession to good taste, but the surprise looked genuine.
"When did he die? It must have been very sudden; I saw him a few days
ago, and he looked all right. Of course, he's been having trouble with
his lungs, but--"
"It was very sudden.
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