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Sony was breathing heavily, his face both calm and stricken at once. Hai picked his glasses from the gravel and put them on, the taped left arm completely broken off. He wobbled back to his feet and studied his cousin, the mole under his eye, as if for the first time. “The fuck was that? You can’t hit me. You’re autistic.” “I’m sorry, I had to make a statement.” “Yeah, and people usually do that with words.”
