He looked at the back of Lennie’s head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined.
A man’s voice called from up the river, and another man answered.
“Go on,” said Lennie. George raised the gun and his hands shook, and he dropped his hand to the ground again.
“Go on,” said Lennie. “How’s it gonna be. We gonna get a little place.”
“We’ll have a cow,” said George. “An’ we’ll have maybe a pig an’ chickens…”
“an’ down the flat we’ll have a… little piece alfalfa—”
“For the rabbits,” Lennie shouted. “For the rabbits,” George repeated.
“And I get to tend the rabbits.” “An’ you get to tend the rabbits.”
Lennie giggled with happiness. “An’ live on the fatta the lan’.” “Yes.” Lennie turned his head.
“No, Lennie. Look down there acrost the river, like you can almost see the place.”
Lennie obeyed him. George looked down at the gun. There were crashing footsteps in the brush now.
George turned and looked toward them. “Go on, George. When we gonna do it?” “Gonna do it soon.”
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