[The recorder clicks on with the rattle and thud of things being dropped onto a table, and someone speaking low over the noise.]
-not really here. I know the damn prognosis. Thirty days after injury, ninety percent of patients fail to recover to a state better than severe disability. I know I won't work again. You want to rub that in? Fine. You're
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Great. Maybe I can have a hug. That makes everything better.
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[And, quieter, he's turning away from the mic]
Sorry, what? Oh, right, because you were so damn polite to me and mum, closed the door quietly on your way out and everything. Maybe I should throw my gold card at her. That makes up for everything, right?
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