"Why did you kill Celeste?" "I didn't kill her." "But you had the gun in your hands." "Yes. But I didn't kill her." "Monsieur Jean, do you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?" "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I don't have time to be here with you." "You can't avoid what has happened and continues to happen. If you're playing, that's enough. Don't take up my time." Jean, feeling the pain in his hands, looked at his palms, which were covered in blood. He remembered nothing, he knew nothing. And with each second, it was hard for him to know who he was. With every second, he was losing himself. And as he lost himself, he became smaller. His shoulders slumped and he simply began to sink into the iron chair, which seemed like ice. "Jean, you killed Celeste, and also wounded your friend. Also, you forged his signature on all the documents. You stole everything from him. I knew there
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