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Watching his little sister still swaying like a withering blade of grass, Carl asked:

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you pecking at your soup like a sick chick?”

“Oh. I couldn’t sleep well last night.”

“Hmm?”

“?”

Carl stared at Beatty as if she were some bizarre phenomenon and then opened his mouth.

“You’re telling me... you ended up like that just from missing one night of sleep?”

...What do you mean, “like that”?

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