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gasping for air.
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I listened to my wife die over and over
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and over again.
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I can't imagine, Malcolm.
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Try.
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Imagine it was Moira lying on that pavement,
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bleeding, calling your name.
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And then tell me you wouldn't be prepared to do what I am.
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What do you want?
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Is that any way to treat a girl
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who just walked up 6 flights of stairs?
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No, it's not. Where are my manners? Come on in.