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... adow, John had perfected the art of sarcasm and mastered the science of solitude. Life had carved him into a jaded, irritable recluse, the punchline of every cruel joke. He had long come to terms with his bleak existence, and he wore his sarcasm like armour, deflecting the occasional misplaced sympathy that dared to breach his solitude.

As he stood rigid before the headstone, he lowered his gaze to remember the only soul who had shown him genuine kindness. It painted a haunting picture: ...

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