"Renko has just about had it. Pretty soon somebody will come out of the dugout with a fork and get him."

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Deftly whipping a small tuning fork from his pocket, he struck it smartly against a pillar and held it next to Jamie's left ear. Jamie rolled his eyes heavenward, but shrugged and obligingly sang a note. The little man jerked back as though he'd been shot.

— Diana Gabaldon