Deckard: *his /bruised/ eye and cheek are /throbbing/ again, the eye swollen almost closed, the other red and puff, his nose running – the look he gives Terris when he's pulled back out from under the bush grief-stricken and…just so /lost/* I-I don't . . . I don't k-know . . . what to /do/ anymore. I-I don't- *breaks down into /sobs/ again, finding himself /clinging/ to Terris, burying into him*
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