Interlude

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Véra has tears in her eyes, her voice broken by a barely contained sob. "I know this story, the plane crash you're talking about." "I know," replies the old man, his deep voice resonating in the heavy silence of the room. "How could you know?" she asks, incredulity tinting her question with a tone of gentle defiance. Silence is his only response, a silence that speaks more than words. "You understand Matthieu's concern all the better," she murmurs, more to herself than to him. "Yes," he simply agrees, a sigh heavy with unspoken words escaping his lips.

The old man rises with difficulty, leaning on the frame of his chair to find his balance. The vinyl record slides with ritual precision onto the turntable of the gramophone. The first notes of Stéphane Grappelli's violin soon blend with David Gilmour's guitar chords, before Roger Waters' iconic voice completes the trio. "So, so you think you can tell. Heaven from hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field. From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?"

"I cannot reveal everything to you yet. Let me continue my story."

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