[ One of these days he'll get the real meaning of the word out of him, but he ain't got the fight in him for it here and now. Especially not with the fact that he's more ready to crawl back to death than answer the question he just got asked. His jaw sets stubbornly, but eventually he breaks his own silence. ]
My wife, Ethel. She's dead and gone years now.
[ He finds himself looking back down at the scratchy quilt on him, and picks at a stray thread. He may as we dredge up the rest. ] Maria, too.
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My wife, Ethel. She's dead and gone years now.
[ He finds himself looking back down at the scratchy quilt on him, and picks at a stray thread. He may as we dredge up the rest. ] Maria, too.