[There's a distinct beat humming through the line; it sounds metal and it pauses every once in a while, but there is some sort of rhythm to it. Tink. Slap. Tink. Slap. Tink. Slap. ]
Not right. It's off; the chances aren't split.
[The voice is at a whisper, but it sounds faded, crinkled like an old newspaper. The words are gurgled out as if the
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