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She stared
at him, had to force her jaw not to drop open. Paint? Dear God, how? He had to
be joking, testing her again, but the humor had faded from the steady gaze he
turned on her. Paint. Show him.
She picked up the stylus, easily twice the
size that she normally used, and eyed her target. Confusion, frustration. She
swiped a diagonal across the E-sel’s bottom third. It trailed a sickly green
swath.
“Ghastly color,” Ecks said.
“Yes.” Of course it was.
“Do you
always hold it that way?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“The stylus. You hold it
like—” He stepped closer and examined her grip. “Like it’s a weapon.”
~ New Canterbury Affair
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