There's the ghost of a nod and a look in his eyes that's almost hope that what she's saying could be true. He reaches for the water glass, pulls it toward himself, but instead of drinking he drops his head, shoulders shaking. She's right about the oncoming breakdown; after the first few seconds he stops trying to be quiet and just lets himself cry.
"They ate him," he says when he's more or less found his voice again. "He followed me, he didn't know what they were, and they ate him."
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"They ate him," he says when he's more or less found his voice again. "He followed me, he didn't know what they were, and they ate him."