something in another man that reflected something in himself?
No time. Meditate on your own time, David Webb! I have no use for
you, you weak, soft son of a bitch. Get away from me! I have to flush
out a bird of prey Ive wanted for thirteen years. His claws are
razor-sharp and hes killed too often, too many, and now he wants to
kill my own-your own. Get away from me!
Bloodstains. On the dull, dark brown carpet, wet driblets glistening
in the dim overhead light. Bourne crouched and felt them; they were wet;
they were red-bloodred. Unbroken, they passed the first door, then the
second, remaining on the left-then they crossed the hall, the pattern
now altered, no longer steady, instead zigzagging, as if the wound had
been located, the bleeding partially stemmed. The trail passed the sixth
door on the right, and the seventh ... then abruptly the shining red