“Me an’ you.” “You… an’ me. Ever’body gonna be nice to you.”
“Ain’t gonna be no more trouble. Nobody gonna hurt nobody nor steal from ‘em.”
Lennie said, “I thought you was mad at me, George.”
“No,” said George. “No, Lennie. I ain’t mad. I never been mad, an’ I ain’t now.”
“That’s a thing I want ya to know.” The voices came close now.
George raised the gun and listened to the voices. Lennie begged, “Le’s do it now. Le’s get that place now.”
“Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta.” And George raised the gun and steadied it,
and he brought the muzzle of it close to the back of Lennie’s head.
The hand shook violently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He pulled the trigger.
The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down again.
Lennie jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the sand, and he lay without quivering.
George shivered and looked at the gun, and then he threw it from him, back up on the bank, near the pile of old ashes.
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