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一次讲透代账行业销售管理与营销获客drvb

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小编❥(^_-)：lfm265   lfm265

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一次讲透代账行业销售管理与营销获客drvb

She asked me the word for it. Not lie, or liar. The kinder word. I taught her secret

We slipped out holding hands. Nodded to the man standing102 watch. We went out, to the hills that huddled103 around the hired men’s camp. There we filled our arms and wove dry plants into a track, which we laid down for the fire to follow. We surrounded the hired men’s camp with scrub, with grass knotted tight enough to burn long, with thistle heads crackling menace. The high grass hid our intent as we built a circle, a fence, a prison of combustible104 stuff that would raise flames higher than walls. All it would take was a spark.

And as we did this deadly work? We lay on our bellies105. We whispered softly. From a distance, if the hired men bothered to look, they’d see only the grasses swaying above us, as they do to mark the passage of lovers.

When it came time for my watch, I took my place by the building. The two hired men returned to their camp. They started dinner. Hidden from them, at the start of a long track of tinder, your ma struck a piece of flint.

—

This story’s hard to tell, Lucy girl. Even for me. Got no flesh and rightly I shouldn’t hurt, but rememory hurts me.

—

We meant to trade two lives for two. The fire had its own idea. That fire reared up like it wasn’t fire but something living: an enormous beast lofted106 into the sky, orange flames striped black with smoke. A thing born of the hills, born of the rage that the land should feel. Certainly not a tame thing. You ever corner an animal, Lucy girl? Even a mouse will turn and bite at the last, when it believes itself dying. Amidst the crackle and the smoke—Lucy girl, I swear those hills birthed a tiger.

I saw the fire follow its track downhill. I saw the black forms of the hired men run. Not fast enough. The flames found the dry circle we’d laid, and swallowed the hired men’s camp.

I whooped107 then. Saw your ma racing45 from her hiding spot, heading for our lake.

The fire, finished with the camp, went toward the stream as planned. We meant for it to die in the water. A quiet death.

But a fickle108 wind blew up, stronger than either of us had figured. It stoked the flames higher. I saw the beast raise one long, flaming limb—and step over the stream.

The fire split in two. One part roared forward, toward me and the building that held the two hundred. The other part lunged to the side, licking the grasses, pursuing your ma

—

Like your ma I believe in fairness. But more’n than, I believe in family. Ting wo, Lucy girl. Your family comes first. You stick by them. You don’t betray your family.

—

I’m not a cruel man, Lucy girl. There were three horses tied up by the building and I left two. I unlocked the door and screamed at the two hundred to run. I gave them as much a chance as I could give them, and then I rode after your ma.

It turned out that building wasn’t stone through and through. Whoever built it built lazy, and inside those stones hid a center of straw and dung. A secret heart that dried out over many years in the sun. That caught the fire and fed it.

Half a mile away, holding your ma waist-deep in our lake, I saw the building go up in flame.

It blazed so big and hungry I felt the blast of heat from that distance. It caught any stray people who’d started to run. Your ma was unconscious from breathing smoke; I’d dragged her onto the back of the horse and crashed right into the water. She didn’t see it, or breathe the awful smoke of cooking flesh. But I did. I watched, knowing she’d want me to witness the two hundred as they died.

I never did take to meat again after that, though your ma liked it plenty.

—

A question that’s followed me for years, Lucy girl, is this: can you love a person and hate them all at once? I think so. I think so. When your ma first woke in the ashfall, she smiled at me. No—grinned. The wicked grin of a girl who’d pulled off her prank109. She was bold as anything. So certain we’d done right. So certain she knew best.

Then she coughed, and when she sat up—she saw what stretched behind. Our lake of fire, reflecting the sky. The spooked and lathered110 horse I’d saved. The flames still flicking111 along the ridge where the building was charred112 black rubble113.

Your ma cried as an animal cries, rocking back and forth114 in the shallows. She tipped her head back and howled. Night came and still she scratched me if I approached, and bared her teeth. The cracking, hissing115 sounds from her smoke-torn throat—they weren’t words.

You’ve heard me tell stories of transformation116, Lucy girl. Men into wolves. Women into seals and swans. Well, your ma transformed that night, though her face and body looked the same.

Twice she ran to the far edge of the lake and looked out at the ruins of the two hundred. Her whole body quivered, pointed toward them. Away from me. I could see in her the wildness. I could see her desire to run. I left the horse where it was. Let her leave if she wanted.

And then, in the smeared117 gray dawn, I felt her burrow118 into my side. Her fingers sharp enough to rip my belly, my guts119. I wouldn’t have stopped her. All she tore was my shirt, my pants. Her howls didn’t stop so much as turn into moans, grunts120. At last she curled against me and asked me, over and over, in a scratchy, smoke-ruined voice, not to leave her alone.

The weeks that passed while we waited for the fire to die, for your ma’s throat to heal—they went this way: Sometimes I’d catch your ma staring at me with hate. Other times, love. I was the only person left to her. I suppose I had to carry both. She raged and beat my chest, but lay quiet to let me rub poultices on her throat.

Her throat never did heal proper. Just like your nose, Lucy girl. That voice of your ma’s, that scratch and rustle121 of it—that was something made.

—

I’ve told you before that I met a tiger, and came away with this bad leg. You never believed me. I saw the judgment in your eyes. Sometimes that made me furious—my own daughter practically calling me a liar—and other times I was pleased. Didn’t I tell you, Lucy girl? That you should always ask why a person is telling you their story?

The truth, now: here’s how I met the tiger.