Okay, Croaker. What the hell happened?”“I don't know. The falling sickness?”“Give him some of his own soup,” somebody suggested. “Serve him right.” A tin cup appeared. We forced its contents down his throat.His eye clicked open. “What are you trying to do? Poison me? Feh! What was that? Boiled sewage?”“Your soup,” I told him.
-Glen Cook
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