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... in the chest. Even though his weird fruit-pit chain mail, it kind of hurt. "Whew, he says, having made me wait until the very last minute before I’d either have to abandon him or die to not abandon him? Whew?"

"I mean, I made it," Tulland tried, defensively.

"And poor White. The man is two hundred years old."

"He’s not."

"Close enough. He’s old and just trying to help his planet with his last little bit of life and you made him think he might have to give that up ...

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