[ On the bench he also inspects himself, holding his palm out and turning his hand over. A few flexes and waggles of his fingers assures him nothing has been physically hurt—his hands, his most precious tools. He rubs his forehead over his left eye with the tips of his fingers, massaging this skin one last time before sitting up straighter. There is no dignity here, but he is immensely appreciative she's giving him the privilege of her company while he's in such a state. What he went through, frankly, sucked—randomly cruel and completely undeserving, in his opinion—but dimly he's wondering if she experienced any horrible agonizing flash of memory of her own at the same time... or if she saw what he saw, somehow. ]
You didn't... see or feel anything in there yourself, did you?
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You didn't... see or feel anything in there yourself, did you?