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(The day has brightened. The area of Navichet’s right eye is visibly wounded)

SPONDULE: P-- please

(He comes to a strange gate of salvaged metal panels, embedded in a stone wall)

SPONDULE: Gleaners. She’s hurt. Please... (Kneeling before the gate) We-- we don’t cause trouble-- we don’t drink-- (he holds Navichet up before him desperately) Please--