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turning to page one
Red waits at the bars. Smoking. Listening. He cranes his head, peers down toward Andy's cell. Nothing. Not a peep.
HEYWOOD (O.S.)
Fat-Ass...oh, Faaaat-Ass. Talk to
me, boy. I know you're in there. I
can hear you breathin'. Now don't
you listen to these nitwits, hear?