[There's an old-ish man in an impeccable dress suit in the entrance hall. Cohen's cleaned up for the occasion; maybe he's trying to recapture his old surface self. White gloves hide the scars on his hands, and - okay, so he's wearing stage makeup again, but it's at least freshly applied and
not stark whiteHe pushes open the front door, slowly, with
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The sun and I have a lot to catch up on.
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...The gentleman I played for?
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[he murmurs it, already distracted by the vastness of the sky.]
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You might want to take it a bit slow, there, Mr. Cohen.
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