"Fold it ā¦ under the pillow. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. He sent me flowers. Come, mon ami, come!ā Ever faithful, Kimble dragged himself into a sitting position, gasping at the pain this caused him. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. That would be him. Quick, now. āIām thirsty.
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