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Chapter 41

Sunday afternoon

Jon put both hands to his face and tried to rub his weariness away. He stretched his legs under the table. A sour fug clung within the cubicle. He stared at the clock. "Only one interview in and I can hardly keep my thoughts in order."

Perstow placed a hand against his forehead, closing his eyes.

"Not you, too?" Jon asked, suddenly worried.

"I'm fine. Not much in the way o' sleep."

"Time for lunch," Jon announced.

A bright expression flushed across Perstow's face, as if Jon had offered him a raise in pay. "Sure!"