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I don’t think he had any friends,’ Brunetti said, admitting to what he had always thought of as the great tragedy of his father’s life. ‘Most men don’t, do they?’ she asked, but there was only sadness in her tone. ‘What do you mean? Of course we have friends.’ In the face of her visible sympathy, Brunetti could not keep the indignation from his voice. ‘I think most men don’t, Guido, but you know that’s what I think because I’ve said it so many times. You have what the Americans call “pals”, men you can talk to about sports or politics or cars.’ She considered what she had said. ‘Well, since you live in Venice and work for the police, I guess you can substitute guns and boats for cars. Things, always things. But in the end it’s the same: you never talk about what you feel or fear, not the way women do.
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