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In China Lake, the evening before the funeral, Keith and I met with Paul’s mother and his step-dad, at their home. Paul was their only child. I seldom think of it, but I now recall, or I imagine that I recall, Paul’s step-dad told us, “I know you boys weren’t out drinking the night before.”
This, I understood, might have been a question cautiously presented. I furrowed my brow and slowly shook my head. “No, sir,” I replied.
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