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As the policemen hustled the bloody Thorne onto the gurney, and struggled to work through the crowds and get him to a waiting ambulance, Thorne held his unbroken arm aloft, gripping the ancient volume from Sol's library, and said as loudly as he could muster, "You gotta tell 'em, cap... the oil's gone, there's no more plastic, there's no more e-ink... nothing left but wood... Soylent White is trees!.. ya gotta tell... tell them all...
(Hm. Seems familiar somehow...)
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