“My finger,” Jamie said. “I—well … I wondered whether ye’d maybe not mind to have it buried with ye.” Ian looked at him for a moment. Then his shoulders started to shake. “God, don’t laugh!” Jamie said, alarmed. “I didna mean to make ye laugh! Christ, Jenny will kill me if ye cough up a lung and die out here!” Ian was coughing, fits of it interspersed with long-drawn-out wheezes of laughter. Tears of mirth stood in his eyes, and he pressed both fists into his chest, struggling to breathe. At last, though, he left off and straightened slowly up, making a sound like a bellows. He sniffed deep
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