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... utes. Six hundred and four thousand eight hundred seconds. That was how long it had been since I came home to find my wife comatose. OK, I don't know about the exact second, and I might be off by a minute or two, but everything else is exact.
"Where are you, Trinity? Why aren't you coming home to me? To your family? What are you doing out there?" I knew that asking her these questions was pointless. It wasn't like she could answer them for me right now anyway. Still, it made me feel ...
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