She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. Your fingers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl’s. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around.
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