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... p> I could actually hear the coffee dripping. Each drop hit Luka’s shoe with a soft plop that might as well have been a gunshot in the quiet room. The man hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. I was genuinely concerned he’d suffered some kind of stroke.
His brain was definitely making the dial-up internet sound right now. You know the one. That horrible screeching noise from the ancient computers in old movies. Beeeee-bwoop-bwoop-SKREEEEEEE.
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