“Have a look at your ticket,” Dudi said, waving some printed papers in front of me. “And think”
The voices drift toward me as I sit in my airplane seat with my eyes closed.
“Of course I love you. You’re my brother.”
“It’s kind of hard to feel that, sometimes. But let’s try to believe it,” Dudi says.
“There you go again, with the cynicism. I’m talking seriously,” Abba answers.
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