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Page 164
Jimmy, had had all those years past? No. Mike could not die!
Abby ran into the empty kitchen screaming, "Hannah! Come quickly. Bring the . . . bee sting kit." She prayed that, whatever it was, it would help Mike, for she would be able to do no more for him than she had for Jimmy.
After several long seconds, Hannah appeared. She raced to a corner of the kitchen, pulled open a drawer, and extracted a small orange plastic box. "I've told him not to eat outside. But will he listen?" She ran out to Mike. Abby followed.
His breathing was uneven, as Jimmy's had been, and his face was mottled. He managed a smile as Hannah pulled open the box. "I know. Growing no flowers isn't enough; I shouldn't"
"Save your breath." Hannah pulled a paper from a clip on the box and began to read. Then, glancing up, she said, "I don't know how to give shots. I ought to make you do this yourself."
"Think of the fun . . . you'll have . . . torturing me." Mike's voice gasped; his breath came in wheezes. So like little Jimmy. Abby, too, felt unable to breathe in her helplessness. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Hannah thrust the box at Abby. "Push up his sleeve; then unwrap the alcohol swab while I get the syringe ready."
Without understanding all Hannah said, Abby struggled to obey. On Mike's now-bare forearm was an angry red swelling that seemed to grow as she watched.
"Now," Hannah ordered, "wipe the alcohol on

 
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