"I'm dying, you see," Alphonse blurted, "so it seems a waste of good food." Aaliyah delicately covered her mouth with one hand. Jacobi lifted one eyebrow, and the sardonic judgement was as evident as if he had voiced it aloud. "Dying, sir." "Yes. I've broken every bone in my body, and I shall have to be entombed in this very chaise. I'm never to move again." "I don't think that's true, sir." "Tell him, Aaliyah! Aren't I dying?" "He does seem considerably moribund. Might I suggest wrapping him up in a comfortable shroud and taking him home, where he might pass in peace?" "Ma'am," Jacobi said,
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