“Haymitch is still dead to the world. Since nothing else has worked, I fill a basin with icy cold water, dump it on his head, and spring out of the way. A guttural animal sound comes from his throat. He jumps up, kicking his chair a metre behind him and wielding a knife. I forgot he always sleeps with one clutched in his hand. I should have prised it from his fingers, but I’ve had a lot on my mind. Spewing profanities, he slashes the air a few moments before coming to his senses.”
