’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. Michelle’s eyes were red and bloodshot. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. He was a little embarrassed.
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