Her hand came off easily: no sound, little blood - just a look of disbelief in her startled, cerulean-blue eyes. A thin, righteous smile of justice crossed Rafe's lips.

After wiping the blade on the grass, he returned the knife to the sheath inside the waistband of his khakis. Turning, he walked easily back into the tournament.

As he approached table 3 for the next round, Sally, sitting North, asked: "Where's your partner, Rafe?"

"She's outside, thinking about her last hand."

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