“There, there, now. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. He seemed to be about to move toward her. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. Come, mon ami, come!’ Ever faithful, Kimble dragged himself into a sitting position, gasping at the pain this caused him. I say again, grace à vous. Find that boy.
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