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I believe that’s why he was able to relate the minutiae of his morning so precisely, knowing full well what those details might reflect back of him.

With every conversation, every sentence uttered from our mouths, we are all writing our biographies.  We cunningly size up our audience: their sympathies and prejudices, their wit, their attention spans, their need for truth and our obligation (or lack of obligation) to give it to them.

Harry was a smart man.  He was a man of careful consideration and polite manners.  He knew as well as you or I or anyone, that returning to eat oatmeal after hearing your step-son has killed himself is the most crass and heartless action of the very many different ones a man could take.

All at once, by admitting he’d done these those simple things: made his breakfast, picked up his the paper, ate his breakfast and drank his orange juice and coffee, it was as if he was admitting he’d pulled the trigger and killed him himself.

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