Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. “But the thing is, I want a job. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone.
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