“Thank you,” Rowley managed. “And for—God, for everything. For saving my life. I thought I was going to die. I really thought—and you came, and you were wonderful.” His voice cracked. “I had to play rugby at school for years.” Clem took Rowley’s shirt from his tense hands. “Imagine that coming in useful, after all this time. I hated it, but the games master said he’d teach me to tackle if he died in the attempt.” “I should write and thank him.” “You can’t. He died.” Rowley choked. “Really?” Clem grinned. “No, you idiot.”
