Purgatory: A Novel Of The Civil War - Plot & Excerpts
I sit in the camp chair; he sits cross-legged at my feet. I offer no information; he asks for none. He has the bullwhip to endure today, so what Sarge said this morning I’ll relay some other time. I dribble honey on the pone and hold it to his lips. He thanks me, chews, and gulps coffee. Outside, my compatriots are laughing, a little giddy with the sudden sun, the apparent departure of winter. The paltry portion of pone’s done. Now I hold out the handcuffs. “Sarge found these,” I say. Drew lifts his head, looks at the cuffs, hangs his head, and holds out his roped hands. “Go ahead,” he says, so I do, locking the metal about his wrists, then unknotting and removing the bloodstained ropes that have bound Drew’s hands since he first was captured. “When?” Drew mumbles. “After lunch,” I say. We both gaze at the bullwhip in the corner, curled up like a black snake. “Do you want me to salve and bandage you now?” Drew shakes his head. “Might as well save it till…after.
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