"Do you ever miss him?" he asked his brother.

"Who?"

"Papa," he said. He still said it as if he were a child because it was the way he wanted to remember his father. He didn't know the man who had emerged at the beginning of the war.

"No," his brother said. "I'm glad he's dead."

He sighed. He didn't recognize his brother. He hadn't recognized his father. He guessed, in a way, he was glad Papa had died.

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