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Comments 3
"Better make this quick, Gene. These drugs'd fell an elephant."
They sat through the night. Woolf talked a little, and slept when talking got too much. Though nothing he said made any difference, Gene listened anyway. It is a terrible thing, to die without hope, and in his experience only a very few bastards deserved it.
That Monday, Phyllis looked him over. "Busy weekend, Guv?"
"Could say that."
He paid for the funeral himself.
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