bernur

"Morley looked down at his left hand with a look of dawning comprehension and horror; from the pinkie´s stump blood pumped in appalling quantity. 'Where´d it go?' But even as he said it he was turning in horror toward the stew.
   He stumbled over to the cauldron and, howling like a coyote, stuck both hands into the roiling, fetid liquid. In a half second or so the source of his keening changed from indignation and sorrow to plain and simple pain, and he withdrew from the pot his forearms and hands but only nine of his fingers. He looked back at me with his arms held before him, dripping with scalding, viscous stew.
   'Looky there,' he said brightly. 'Stopped bleedin´.'"

Jag har helt klart läst för få Western-romaner på sistone. Scott Phillips, Cottonwood (2004). Nästan lika bra som hans noir-roman The Ice Harvest.