Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. She could not help but swoon a little. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. ’ Taking the chair she had indicated with a careless wave of one stiff-fingered hand, Gerald felt hope burgeoning.
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