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    @2 In Artyom‟s head there was a dance of thought fragments and images that said wait, it‟s too early, I haven‟t yet managed to do what I had to do, and then Hunter‟s strict face appeared before his eyes and disappeared immediately in the crimson twilight of the station, then Sukhoi‟s tender gaze appeared and vanished too. Mikhail Porfirevich . . . „You will die‟ . . . the dark ones . . . they can‟t . . . Wait! And over all this, interrupting his memories, the words, his desires, shrouding them in a stuffy dense haze, hung a great thirst. Something to drink . . .
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