By Caitlín R. Kiernan, Kathleen Tierney
My name's Quinn.
if you purchase into my acceptance, I'm the main infamous demon hunter in New England. yet rumors of my badassery were just a little exaggerated. rather than having kung-fu talents and a closet filled with medieval guns, I'm an ex-junkie with a expertise for being within the improper position on the correct time. Or the precise position on the unsuitable time. Or...whatever.
sought after for crimes opposed to inhumanity I (mostly) didn't devote, i used to be approximately a nighttime snack for a werewolf till i used to be "saved" via a vampire calling itself the Bride of Quiet. Already cursed by way of a werewolf chunk, the vamp took a pint out of me too.
So now...now, good, you wouldn't imagine it will probably worsen, yet you'd be lifeless flawed.
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Dona Flor felt at peace with her husband, had no accounts to settle with him. She bowed her head, and stopped observing the girl's movements. All she saw, as she lowered her eyes, was Vadin ho running his hand over her body in the iron bed, whisper ing in her ear: · "Nothing but haybags to pass the time. " What the devil was a haybag, Dona Flor suddenly wondered. What a pity she had never asked him, but it couldn't be anything good. She smiled. All the others haybags, the only one he really loved was she, Flor, a flower in Vadinho's hand from which he stripped the petals.
At least look out of the window," said Dona Norma to Ze Sampaio, having given up hope of dragging him to the cemetery. "Look and see what the funeral is like of a man who knew how to make friends, not a wild animal, like you . . He was a rascal, a gambler, a good-for-nothing, worthless, and yet look. And mind you, on a Carnival day. When you die, Mr. Sampaio, there won't be a single pall bearer . •" and Her Two Husbands 25 Ze Sampaio neither answered nor looked out of the window. In bed, in a pair of old pajamas, with yesterday's papers, he merely gave a faint sigh and put his thumb between his teeth.
It was Vadinho's favorite dish, I will never again serve it at my table. His teeth bit into the crab, His lips were yellow with the dende oil, Alas, never again his lips, His tongue, never again His mouth burning with raw onion ! ) I At the mass of the seventh day after Vadinho's death, at which Dom Clemente Nigra officiated in the Church of St. Theresa, the beautiful nave enveloped in the bluish, transpar ent light coming from the sea across from it, as though the church were a boat on the point of weighing anchor, the sympathy and the solidarity manifested in whispered com ments were addressed to Dona Flor, kneeling in the first row before the altar, all in black-wearing a black lace mantilla lent her by Dona Norma, which hid her hair and her tears a rosary between her fingers.