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[The word Why? is on the tip of his tongue. He's all prepared to throw it at him like a weapon, but he doesn't.]

[He sighs, laces his fingers together in his lap.]

It was Philip, then Barron, then me. Philip's dead. Barron's - here. So I guess he's dead too.

[The thought does not sit well with him, despite the fact that he shouldn't care. But also should, but also shouldn't.]

[He looks at his hands. There's more, and he wants to say it, but his words aren't working again.]

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