[ In the library, sits a man in his early thirties, in a rumpled suit. He doesn't look like he's gotten much sleep lately. He's surrounded by small piles of books, and has another open in front of him. But he's not really reading, more staring in front of him with a distant expression. Angsting. Possibly even brooding
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[ And is distracted. ...That must be in some sense other than the medical one. ]
You don't have your heart?
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Well, first, you have to get your feet healed.
[ He stands up. ] Come on. We'll get you to the infirmary. [ Not that he's sure he trusts that place, mostly on account of the staff, but it's better than no facility at all. ]
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