"That's not correct," Simmons informed him
smoothly; "Buckley has no power to do that...
the owners of the privilege decided that you were
too unreliable."

"Then it's true," Gordon interrupted him, "I'm
off?" Simmons nodded. Gordon's temper swelled
and flared whitely before his vision; rage possessed
him utterly; without balance, check, he was no more
than an insensate force in the grip of his mastering
passion. He would stop that miserable, black heart
forever. Old Valentine Simmons' lips tightened,
his fingers twitched; he turned his back deliberately
upon Gordon. The metal buckle which held the
strap of his waistcoat caught the sun and reflected
it into Gordon's eyes. "How many gross pink celluloid
rattles?" the storekeeper demanded of the
clerk.

Gordon Makimmon's hand crept toward his
pocket... then he remembered -- he had lost that
which he sought... on the side of Cheap Mountain.
If Simmons would turn, say something further,
taunt him, he would kill him with his hands.
But Simmons did none of these things; instead he
walked slowly, unharmed, into the store.

[[81]]

p080 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p081w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p082

v?