His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. So there is no escape. I’m not such a bad sort. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread. 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. “Pump, pump, per-um-pump, Pum, Pump, Per-um. “Dear John,” she whispered. ’ Gerald grinned. The rejection caught him like a slap in the face.
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