The horses were not in goodcondition, though better than they may have looked to most eyes. Her communicator buzzed and she got up to answer it. Gentlemen, he was saying to his staff, it is time to cut our losses. Which, she thought, he no doubt had.
A messman in crisp white apron had seen Varlik enter and, tracking himwith his eyes, slanted quickly over, stainless steel thermal pitcher inhand, to pour his joma and take his order. He was pretty sure he could wad the civilian up in aball, if it came to that. A couriered message. At first, when a horse died, it was hastily cut up before it froze solid, butthat slowed the column.
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