It's a sign of how low he is that Jim welcomes the sting, sighing in relief as the nausea recedes almost at once. "Thank you," he says, gripping his spoon again and managing a bite this time. With the appetite aids it even tastes good, and he takes another.
"You thought I was sick," he realizes, looking down at his soup. "Sorry, I should've commed."
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"You thought I was sick," he realizes, looking down at his soup. "Sorry, I should've commed."