In the coffin

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There was nothing that I recognized in what lay in the coffin. It was his body, but it was nothing that he would have wanted anyone to see . . . just pallid flesh despite the caked-on makeup, sunken eyes, and a harshly drawn down mouth. The left side of his face was battered and crumpled. I put my hand on his. He was cold, and I thought that if I pressed hard, I might leave fingerprints in his skin.

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